


From the Lips of a Burglar

by C_RIE_ativity



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 22:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_RIE_ativity/pseuds/C_RIE_ativity
Summary: In which Bilbo tells the Company stories throughout the journey and more things happen in between.





	1. The Tale of Lady Sinukuan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saebrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saebrin/gifts).



> This is my first HHH entry and I'm nervous about doing this but I'm hoping you'd like how this turned out cause I had a lot of fun doing this!

The first time their burglar told them a tale from his homeland was a sennight into their travel. The halfling was only minding his business by the fire when Fíli and Kíli approached him, asking him for an explanation for the flower wreaths being hung on the outside of their homes.

 

Though he had been disinterested in the motherland of the halfling, Thorin had to admit to some curiosity being sparked in him when he took note of the fruit baskets and wreaths displayed outside the home of the Shire’s people.

 

The halfling stilled and looked at them blankly before he adjusted his seating to face the two. Even from afar, he could see eagerness on his nephews’ faces as the halfling prepared to speak. For some Mahal-forsaken reason the two had stuck to their burglar as if they had been sewn together. Even when the halfling so clearly was attempting to be alone on some days.

 

“You saw our peace offerings to the Lady.” Was his simple reply. Almost immediately, Thorin grew aware of a stirring in his company. An interest in them that he did not understand.

 

Ori had even proceeded to take out his writing tools, ready to immortalise what it was the halfling was about to say.

 

“You mean Lady Yavanna, correct?” It was Balin that had spoken, Thorin could only scoff. What other Lady would there be for the halflings? Even with his limited knowledge of the pacifistic people, he was well-aware of their worship to Mahal’s wife.

 

But he found himself shocked when their burglar only shook his head.

 

“I suppose it is believable and understandable if it was.” The halfling mused, rubbing at his chin in thought before he chuckled, “But it isn’t.” 

 

Deciding to finally speak up, he straightened his posture and cleared his throat, “Then who is this Lady that you seek peace with, Master Halfling?” He asked with a raised brow.

 

His manner of addressing their burglar was responded to with a sharp glare before the burglar huffed.

 

“The Lady, Master  _ Dwarf _ ,” The halfling spoke with such irritation in addressing him that Thorin raised his brows in surprise. He did not expect such fire in the halfling whatsoever what with his fainting spell back in his hole. “is one my people had driven away with the aid of Men from Ages past.” Thorin frowned at the bitterness in their burglar’s tone. He looked to his nephews, both of whom looked concerned and curious...even more so than they were before.

 

However, it was Ori that spoke in their stead. “What did you do to drive her away?”

 

An ashamed expression flashed in the halfling’s eyes before he sighed and gestured for all to come closer. Thorin himself did as the hobbit asked.

 

It was when they were all close enough to hear every breath or whisper that left them that their ho-

 

Their burglar.

 

It was when they were all close enough to hear every breath or whisper that left them that their  _ burglar  _ finally spoke.

 

And it was in the tones of a tale that he told them.

 

‘Her name was  _ Sinukuan _ .” Thorin frowned at the foreign word that left the halfling’s lips. Was it a language the Children of the West knew? For not once in his travelling did he hear such words as the halfling spoke now. “She was my people’s guardian and keeper when we were new to the Shire and its rolling hills.” Their burglar looked at him.  _ Directly  _ at him and smiled wryly. 

 

“I suppose you never knew that, Master Oakenshield?” The halfling’s gaze left him even before a response was formed in his mind. “The Shire was never ours. It only became ours after Arnor’s Fall. But even then, never wholly our own.”

 

Thorin was unable to respond before the burglar continued his tale. Yet when Thorin looked round camp, he caught concern showing in some of his Company members’ eyes.

 

The revelation that the people of the Shire did not exactly have the Shire for their own surprised him. And it seemed it was not only he that had expected this to be told to them.

 

“In my people’s eyes, she was a beauty to behold.” The halfling chuckled and looked at Fíli and Kíli’s inquisitive faces, “Her skin was not pale like milk but brown like soil, her eyes and hair were black as night with her her hair flowing behind her like a train.”

 

The halfling paused and looked down on the ground and shook his head, his lips turned up into a small smile that not many would have seen. “She wore sweet-smelling flowers of white in her hair and a gown of white was her favoured garment. Gold was rarely seen upon her save for a small necklace given to her by the only smith my people had in those times. She was kind, loving, forgiving, everything you can think is a goodness in one’s heart, that is what she is.” 

 

Laughter and murmurs echoed round the company, yet when Thorin expected that irritated expression to appear on the halfling’s face, he only found a sad resignation. 

 

It was jarring to see such an expression on the halfling who was looking around their surroundings in wonder naught but this morning. It was as if this tale was fresh in his memory and not a story told out of religious beliefs passed onto him through his parents and grandparents.

 

The hobbit only shook his head and chuckled dryly.

 

“I don’t blame you lot for laughing, I’d have laughed too.” Bilbo only kept silent long enough for everyone else to calm down before he continued on. “I suppose it’s only the Hobbits that remember her now, but that would be all that matters.” Thorin was not going to claim severe concern on the fourteenth member of his Company but he will say he was alarmed when their burglar began slightly tugging at the hair on his feet.

 

“It was after all,  _ our  _ fault that all this happened to her.” 

 

The laughter ended abruptly by then.

 

Bilbo looked round at them and took in a sharp breath before nodding. “Right. You lot don’t know. I think I should not just go about dallying.” Choosing Fíli and Kíli as the ones he would address, he continued on. “I suppose you have not figured out why I spoke of her kindness.” Thorin looked at his nephews shaking their heads in response, Bilbo nodded.

 

“Well, her kindness was something that had helped us survive in the Shire.  _ Sinukuan  _ welcomed us into its green rolling pastures with open arms and a warm smile. She never said if she was a goddess or a Fae but she was there, ready to help settle my forefathers into her lands so they may have a home. There, she showed us how to tend to the land better than we already were, she looked after us and helped us when we did not know what to make of our new home.” Bilbo smiled faintly as he spoke. “Yet even then, she wanted us to make the best of our time. So every morning, every smial and family awoke to the sights of vegetables, fruits and livestock.” The hobbit chuckled and grinned, “And sometimes, if the mood struck her, she would even leave fresh flower cuttings despite her wishing to impart resources instead of frivolities upon us.” The hobbit paused and smiled.

 

“Though I do believe that beautiful things have as much use as the useful.” Once more, the hobbit’s gaze met his. The  _ halfling _ smiled. “Perhaps moreso.”

 

Thorin was almost tempted to make a comment on that belief. After all, what good did flowers have for starving bellies or burnt flesh? What good will it aid them that they see flowers when they were subjected to fire and ruin?

 

Yet he did not voice his thoughts. He instead allowed the Company time enough to voice their own questions.

 

“So the wreaths were because of her?” Ori asked softly, his quill having already scratched in everything their burglar had told them. Thorin watched the halfling’s gaze who flashed with an emotion he was unable to place.

 

Or that if he did, then that emotion was foreign to their burglar’s face and that it had no place being on such a face.

 

“Yes, Master Ori.” Their burglar confirmed everyone’s thoughts, “It is part of our peace offerings to her that we remember the smallest gifts she had given us.”

 

“Then your people have such sharp memories to recollect such things.” Thorin finally spoke. He was not overly fond of the halfling, granted. But he would be daft to ignore such reverence he saw on the halfling’s face. The pure, raw reverence he held for this Lady of his that he believed his people had wronged.

 

The halfling looked surprised at his comment and his mouth was agape when he spoke but he simply nodded as a way to reply.

 

“Yes. I suppose that is one way to put it.” Shaking his head, the halfling pushed on with his tale. “My people were actually quite content with her morning gifts, in fact. We had so many of her gifts we were at a loss as to what to do with them.” A beat. Then another chuckle.

 

But something about it made it clear just how little their burglar found it amusing. 

 

“So my ancestors went to the King of Arnor and gave him the excess as gifts.” Something in the halfling’s tone emphasised what he thought of his forefathers’ generosity.

 

“You deem it unwise.” It was no question that left Thorin’s lips. It was a statement but their burglar only nodded mutely.

 

“I do. For the people of Arnor heard of those gifts and had begun going to us for more, not knowing whom we received such gifts from.” The halfling pulled back his lips to sneer at his own words. “At least, not until they stalked to the Shire to see where our gifts were coming from.”

 

“And yet you blame yourselves?” Fíli asked, brows furrowed in confusion. Thorin waited to hear the reply for his sister-son had asked a question he wished to ask as well.

 

But their burglar only jerked his head into nodding as a response. “Why not we do so? We bloody well told them that the Lady  _ Sinukuan  _ was the one giving us gifts as a way to help us with our daily lives.” The scorn and self-loathing in the burglar’s tone was filled with so much venom that Thorin saw his sister-sons lean away from him in shock.

 

The burglar responded with a slightly apologetic look.

 

“I suppose my people were too trusting.” He continued on, “I was told that they simply wished to share the Lady’s blessings to those who were not taught by her and had not the same love for earth as my people did.” A mouth twisted bitterly but the halfling pushed on, “We did not expect that by giving our resources, the humans would seek to squeeze out every last drop of resource my ancestors had.”

 

“You said they stalked your forefathers, lad?” Balin spoke next. The halfling nodded.

 

“The story never changes, Master Balin. Once my ancestors began giving those excess to the people of Arnor and its king, they grew greedy and sought more. So, curious as to who or what was causing such an overabundance of food and livestock, they followed my ancestors back to the Shire and lied in wait.”

 

For once, no one cut into the hobbit’s tale. Not even Thorin dared. Though he felt a sinking feeling in his gut that the hobbit’s tale would not end with the people of the Shire chasing away the humans.

 

He doubted they would need peace offerings if that was the case.

 

“They waited all night and I suppose if something had delayed the Lady Sinukuan that night, then the men would have left none the wiser. But nothing delayed her and nothing deterred  _ them _ and so the men found out. They saw her travelling from smial to smial, leaving her gifts at the door and the men believed themselves entitled to such a kindness.

 

So they approached the Lady and asked she give them that same luxury. The Lady refused, explaining that the Shire’s people needed her help much more than they would due to their lack of protection and guidance.” Bilbo stopped speaking and shook his head, “That angered the people of Arnor and they felt insulted at the refusal.”

 

“What did they do as retribution?” Finally, Dwalin had spoken. Thorin had known that the halfling was never high in Dwalin’s favour but he also knew Dwalin wished for the halfling to remain far from battle due to having seen too many lives lost.

 

The tension in Dwalin’s shoulders when he spoke was enough of a tell for Thorin to see Dwalin’s care for the halfling. His guard often was attached to the innocent the way a parched man is attached to water.

 

Thorin secretly was the same.

 

Their burglar shrugged.

 

“They did not attack us, thank the Stars.” The halfling gave a small grin before looking back down to the ground, “No. But they did ask for more of my ancestors’ stocks.”

 

An outraged cry echoed among the Company. Thorin was not even ashamed to admit he had bristled at that statement. But even when he and his kin had been angered, their burglar remained in the morose state he was in.

 

“The humans kept taking and taking from my ancestors, so much so that it was necessary that the hobbits had to ask the Lady for an increase. I suppose we count it as fortunate that she believed that we needed the increase and had given as we asked. But the trust in her was to such an extent that I think had we asked for her to teach her magic to us, she would have. And that was something we feared to take from her for we wished for her to have at least  _ something  _ for herself.

 

The people of Arnor sought more and more from us but my ancestors finally put their foot down when they advised my forefathers to go to her own home to steal from her.” Bilbo took in a breath and he looked up at the sky as if in search for something. “Lot of good that did them.” He muttered.

 

“What happens next?” Ori whispered, his quill pausing in its swift scratching. Bilbo smiled bitterly.

 

“The men threatened the little ones and my forefathers were forced to comply.” Thorin no longer held himself back in throwing curses to the men of Arnor wherever their souls may be now. To threaten children was the lowliest of the low. It was monstrous that the greed of Men would stoop the extent that they deem it necessary to threaten children’s lives?

 

“So they took the burlap sacks the men gave them and made their way to Sinukuan and trudged to her lands.”

 

“Forgive my interruption, laddie, but I thought the Shire was  _ her  _ land?” It was as if the hobbit had been pulled out of a trance with the way Bilbo looked at Balin as if he was not expecting anyone to be there.

 

Their burglar smiled, “The Shire was hers to keep and care for. But she never considered it hers. Her lands were deep within the forests somewhere betwixt and between my homeland and the Blue mountains full of fruit-bearing trees and the like with tame animals that she had raised herself roaming about.” Thorin did not recall seeing such a place in his travels but he could see how it would have looked like were it real. “Her home was a simple hut for all her great powers and graceful features and there she had a garden for tending to medicinal herbs. Those whole lands were hers to care for and dictate according to her wishes.

 

And my ancestors. To some extent, my people now. Trespassed upon her lands through the hissing of Men with their threats and blades upon our heads. They crept into her lands like the thieves they became and though they wished to do anything but what they were about to, they continued on out of fear of the Men threatening their children’s lives. Not knowing that had they told Sinukuan of their plight, she would have aided them.” Bilbo chuckled, “But our fear was so great that our judgement was clouded.”

 

Thorin approached the hobbit more, crossing his arms, he looked at their burglar. “Did your Lady find out of the betrayal?” He asked gruffly. Though he found himself wishing her kindness was still present if she learned of the halflings’ theft of her goods.

 

The hobbit nodded, “She came upon the sight of my ancestors pilfering apples from her trees when she returned from her daily rounds in the Shire.” Bibo smiled, “She only bade that they not take the food from her lands but that they may eat it and rest from what she assumed was a tiring journey just to see her.”

 

“I’m assumin’ the Men di’n’t take well to not havin’ her gifts?” Bofur spoke, his hat being wrung in his mitted hands. Thorin grimaced at the implications, were the children slaughtered as compensation for the lack of resources?

 

“Didn’t take it too well indeed.” Bilbo muttered, “They took the children as collateral.”

 

The horrified cries and outraged shouts deafened Thorin yet he did nothing to silence them for he was among those shouting for justice. They were in the borders of the Shire still, they were safe from any possibilities of danger.

 

For now, Thorin found himself invested in the safety of Shireling pebbles.

 

Their burglar held a hand up to silence them and sighed, “Peace, the children were returned unharmed.” Bilbo pressed his lips together into a tight line before continuing, “My forefathers returned to Sinukuan’s lands and robbed her of as much of her resources as they could.” So that was it then? The halflings had to barter for the safety of their children?

 

Something of their burglar’s expression told him the tale did not end there.

 

“But when they had begun their trek home, they felt their sacks growing heavier and heavier. Exhausted, they took a rest and threw the accursed sacks down.” The hobbit shook his head, “To their horror, instead of fruits and vegetables tumbling down, rocks spilled from the sack instead. And as they scrambled to see the contents of their sacks, they felt a mighty wind throw them off their feet.

 

Before them was Sinukuan in all her power with the winds obeying her whims and anger and hurt blazing in her eyes.

 

‘ _ Did I not tell you not to take anything beyond my lands? _ ’ She cried out in anger, light spilling from long fingers.

 

My ancestors fell to their knees and begged for her forgiveness, telling her of their children’s capture and explaining their actions.” Bilbo paused and rubbed his face roughly, “But the damage had been done. The Lady found out that the increase of resources was asked for simply to be given to Men who did not care for the land as my people do and that they had not come to her lands to visit her but to steal from her. With anger, she turned my forefathers away.”

 

“But,” Thorin hated his voice sounding so small. Yet it cannot be helped that it was so for he knew not how to approach his question, “what of the children? Did she leave them to perish?”

 

The hobbit looked at him before smiling reassuringly, “I promised you that the children were returned.” Their burglar spoke, his voice holding a calm resignation, “And they were. Come morning after Sinukuan’s ire was set ablaze, the families awoke to see their children returned with stories of how the Lady rescued them.” That was when Bilbo grew silent again.

 

“But?” It was Bombur who sensed something else was amiss. And from the shame in their burglar’s eyes, there was.

 

“But when my ancestors came to her dwelling to thank her and promise her that never again shall they steal from her,” Bilbo took a sharp breath in before he finished, “they only found empty woods. There was no sign whatsoever that she had even lived in her forest. Her animals, fruit-bearing trees, her hut and garden were lost to us. And it was with that thought that my guilt-ridden people returned to their smials and took some of their favoured crops to leave outside their doors.”

 

“Just as your Lady had done before.” Thorin finished, realisation sinking into him, the burglar nodded.

 

“Just as she had done so.” Bilbo confirmed, “We hang those wreaths, offer fruit baskets even going so far as offering choice crops to her in hopes that she sees our gifts and understands our sorrow at our forefathers’ actions.” 

 

“Where is she now?” Ori asked, eyes wide with wonder. Thorin however, was only aware of the sheer regret so evident on their burglar’s face.

 

“I don’t know, Master Ori.” Bilbo mumbled, rubbing his face again, “Some believe she migrated to the mountains, though which one, my people will never know.” Their burglar sighed.

 

“It’s alright, lad.” Bofur patted their burglar consolingly, offering a small smile in return. “I’m sure she’ll come around someday.”

 

“I pray she does.”

 

“Though I must ask,” It was Balin once more, adjusting his seating, Thorin watched his advisor address the halfling. “Many times you have addressed your ancestors in your tale but you also have addressed your people as if it were recent. Why is that?”

 

The halfling looked surprised at the question but he nodded and chuckled, “Ah. That.” The halfling shook his head and shrugged, “Every faunt in the Shire was raised hearing these stories. Word for word, we were told of our failings and we came to see our ancestors’ mistakes as our own so we may not think ourselves faultless.” The burglar looked at Balin and gave a small smile, “So I suppose some of that leaked into this tale now for I recall even my mother spoke in this manner, as if to remind us that it was not only our ancestors at fault.”

 

“Is that why your people are suspicious of strangers?” Their burglar looked at him when he asked that. Thorin fought the urge to ask if he were not allowed to ask such questions but he only received a nod from the halfling.

 

It seemed that the hobbit was no longer in the mood to speak.

 

Nodding decisively, Thorin stepped away from the group. “Everyone, get back to bed. The burglar told us the reason for the wreaths and this should be enough to satisfy our curiosities.” 

 

He did not hear the halfling muttering, “At least that’s better than halfling.” as his mind processed plans to find this Lady who mattered a great deal to the Shirelings.

 

He forgot to tell their burglar that he must not put the failings of his forefathers upon his shoulders as what their burglar wished to do and what his forefathers had done did not reflect the characters of one or the other.


	2. The Hobbitlass and the Elvenking

The second time Bilbo told a story to the Company was when some elves decided it was jolly fun to drag him to the Hall of Fire to entertain them. While he was amenable to entertaining elves, he was absolutely, in no way, amenable to being dragged around like a rag doll, thank you very much! 

 

“Come now, Master Baggins, surely you must know of a way to entertain us!” The dark-haired elf wheedled, mischief akin to the blasted Dwarf King’s nephews’ glinted in grey eyes. Bilbo huffed and crossed his arms, looking at them as if they were just saplings refusing to behave.

 

“Yes, I can entertain you, Master Elladan.” He bit out, narrowing his eyes, “But I suppose I won’t. Not after you and your siblings opted to drag me around Stars know where and picked me up as if I was a fauntling of twelve!” 

 

A pout immediately took its place on the elf’s face. Bilbo snorted, he’d seen enough of those from faunts. No elf or dwarf sapling can beat those huge eyes that only hobbit babes were capable of pulling. 

 

“If you could  _ please  _ tell us a tale? Then my brothers and I shan’t pull you around anymore.” Arwen pleaded. For all her grace and detached personality around the dwarves, Bilbo only found Primula in her with her endless excitement for stories and thirst for adventures.

 

He supposed elf ladies had a great deal to do and accomplish before such fun could be had.

 

He sighed and shrugged. That bargain was fair enough.

 

“Seeing as you three dragged me here to your performing hall already, I suppose it would be a shame if I just upped and left.” He muttered grudgingly.

 

The resounding cheer from three elves - and what he suspected were more than that - almost made him regret his decision to accept the bargain. 

 

To think that this happened just after dinner when he was wanting a pipe of Old Toby. Now, here he was in a circular room with a bonfire in the centre being blackmailed into performing by three elves who acted like overactive tweens who didn’t know what to do with their excess of energy.

 

When he saw to it that no one was performing, Bilbo straightened his waistcoat and let out a huff of breath. Well, since none of the Company had bothered with him, entertaining elves would be easier than battle-hardened dwarves.

 

The first story must have been enough for the dwarves to give him a wide berth. Because ever since then, no one really talked to him overmuch and at first he chalked it up to his sorry mood but even when he had brightened up considerably he was not approached. Not even by Ori or Thorin’s nephews.

 

Shaking off the hurt he felt, he went and sat at a stool placed at the centre. He took note that there were numerous elves in the Hall, among them was Lord Elrond, Lord Glorfindel and the three hellions Lord Elrond affectionately calls his children.

 

Clearing his throat, he smiled at his audience. “Hello, my name is Bilbo Baggins.”

 

“So we’ve been told!” Elrohir had shouted out. Bilbo closed his eyes and counted to ten, ignoring the annoyed shushing he heard from Elrohir’s siblings.

 

When some semblance of silence returned, Bilbo sighed and kept his eyes on Lord Elrond’s three children. 

 

“I have been asked to entertain today and I suppose I should do what I can to please.” Clearing his throat, he offered them a small smile, “So I shall tell you all a story.”

 

“What kind of story would that be, Master Baggins?” This time, it was the three elflings’ father. At least the question made some sense instead of whatever nonsense the three had been asking him before his arrival to the Hall of Fire.

 

“A love story, Master Elrond.” He responded.

 

He should have expected the excited tittering that resounded round the Hall. His mother did tell him that elves had a fondness for anything romantic. But even then, he let out a put upon sigh when the nattering extended well beyond the definition of necessary.

 

“Are you lot quite done?!” He shouted over the din of elvish voices. Luckily his raised voice was enough to silence the lot and let him compose himself.

 

“Apologies, Master Hobbit.” It was Lord Glorfindel who had spoken next, his expression genuinely contrite, “We all just got overeager at the mention of romance and I pray you understand why.” Bilbo sighed.

 

“Yes, indeed I do. But that’s no excuse for you lot to act like faunts who heard the word adventure in conversation!” The apologetic faces on the elves was enough to tamp down his annoyance.

 

Rubbing his face, Bilbo just shook his head. “Well, I suppose now you lot know what to expect, you would wish for me to begin?” He asked calmly.

 

His audience nodded.

 

“Now, I don’t know about you lot but this was simply a faerie story I got told as a sapling that was told by my great-grandmother to her children until my mother told it to me. It took place when the Shire was free of Arnor to an extent and some of my people had taken to wandering by themselves.” Bilbo inwardly scoffed at the thought. Hobbits? Wandering beyond the Shire? He was certain Grandmother Baggins would have more than one word to say about that!

 

The Shire was theirs to stay in and theirs alone, the Lady had given them peace for it so why must they leave?

 

“It was one such wandering hobbitlass that came across the sight of an elf.” Bilbo paused to let out a chuckle when he saw Lord Elrond lean forward in interest, “The elf was a handsome one in every manner that elves always were and the hobbitlass was fascinated by that unearthly beauty.”

 

Bilbo was aware of the tromping boots of dwarves. Who else stomped about making so much noise? He sighed.

 

Count on this confounded lot to arrive when he spoke to elves.

 

“Don’t stop on our account,  _ Halfling _ .” It was their blasted rock-headed king. Bilbo shot him a glare before fixing his seating so he was keeping his back to them.

 

The elves nudged each other so they may be in Bilbo’s line of sight.

 

And though Lord Elrond would deny it to the day he sailed, Bilbo saw the elf lord all but push Glorfindel off to the side just to adjust their seating with the golden-haired elf shoving back. It was amusing seeing two elven lords fighting over their seats like fauntlings at their first tea party

 

“What happened next?” It was a different elf, the flutist at dinner who bent down so Óin can better hear their music. She said her name was Valadhiel.

 

He found out she was also a warrior but that she wished to entertain that day they came.

 

Bilbo smiled and was almost tempted to end the story then and there due to how raptly the elves looked at him. A part of him wanted to see if they would act like excited fauntlings asking for one more bedtime story when the first is finished. 

 

But he was not a cruel gentlehobbit.

 

“The hobbitlass was found out by the elf.” He saw Lord Elrond’s twin sons perk up and he raised his brows at them, daring them to interrupt. Thankfully, they remained silent, “It wasn’t love at first sight, heaven forbid it. But the elf was fascinated with the hobbitlass and had approached her, asking her many things. From her lips, he learned of hobbit culture, gardening, even a treasured secret of her people. Everyday they would meet in the forest to speak to one another of everything and nothing. And everyday, the elf left with a flower in hand while the hobbitlass held a new recipe or book from the elf.” 

 

The hushed murmurings of the Company buzzed behind him and Bilbo smiled slightly. It was good to know that they at least knew that bit to his story.

 

Though from the expressions of some of the elves, Bilbo could guess that they did not appreciate it that the dwarves had interrupted the tale.

 

Clearing his throat, Bilbo continued, “It wasn’t long before the elf and hobbitlass fell for one another through their conversations. Their love was meant as a secret full of stolen kisses and whispered promises and for a few moments, it was a well-kept secret, locked away in the minds and hearts of the two.”

 

“Something happens to them, does it not?” It was Arwen whose beautiful face was marred by a frown and she was worrying the fabric of her dress when she had asked her question.

 

Bilbo nodded as an answer and he won’t deny that he found it adorable to see Lord Elrond’s children looking so upset at this faerie story’s turn in the romance.

 

“The elf’s father who was a lord of an elven realm long gone found out about his son’s secret courtship. Needless to say, he was displeased that his son would fall for a mortal peasant. A hobbit to make it worse.” Lord Elrond looked like he had sucked on a lemon at his words, Bilbo however saw Arwen’s crestfallen expression at the “elf lord’s” reaction.

 

“He forbade his son to see the hobbitlass he had fallen for and being loyal to his lord and father, the elf obeyed.”

 

Distressed whispers rang through the Hall, both from the dwarves and elves and Bilbo did not stop them. He knew he was doing something right if two sworn enemies that antagonise one another at every turn end up being united over the childhood faerie story told to him. 

 

“Tell me there’s a different end to this, lad.” It was Bofur. Bilbo smiled and turned to face the dwarves, all of whom looked terribly distressed. Bilbo shrugged. Bofur responded by making a distressed noise at the back of his throat.

 

“Please continue, Master Baggins.” It was Bombur who spoke next, clearly wanting to hear what was to happen to the lovers. 

 

“I’ll tell you all that the hobbitlass was not pleased with what her beloved’s father had told her when she came to their meeting place. So she demanded for the elf lord to give her a chance to prove herself and that she deserved his son. The elf lord did not want to entertain the hobbitlass’s request, but he knew that none would see him to be fair were he to deny her plea. Reluctantly, he agreed but he asked for a night to think of the tasks necessary for her to accomplish.

 

The hobbitlass granted him that night.

 

When they met up the following day in the forest, the elf lord had finally concocted a plan for the hobbitlass to fail.” Almost immediately, elves and dwarves alike stood and shouted in protest, Bilbo groaned and hung his head back.

 

“Stars give me strength.” He muttered.

 

By the time everyone had calmed themselves, Bilbo raised his brows at his audience. Lord Elrond - who he realised had been shouting profanities for a minute when Bilbo reached that certain point - looked properly chastised, though when he looked at the dwarves, none looked regretful at what they had taken to do.

 

“Are you lot done?” Bilbo asked, his voice eerily calm.

 

His audience nodded.

 

“Good.” Standing up from his stool, he took to walking round the Hall just to allow the audience to properly hear him. Though he was positive that the elves were capable of hearing him no matter what.

 

“The hobbitlass immediately asked for her trials and with a frightfully disarming smile, the elf lord gave it to her. He gave her a freshly caught bird that was no bigger than his fist and bade her to cook it into a feast fit for a dozen dignitaries.”

 

“The fucking bastard cheated!” Bofur shouted as once more the volume of the audience’s chatter overpowered the narrator’s voice.

 

Irritated, Bilbo sat down, this time on the ground. 

 

“Honourless coward!” It was Thorin’s voice that rang through Bilbo and shocked the hobbit himself. It appears dwarves were as much romantics as the elves then.

 

“That is not fair whatsoever!” It was Lord Elrond’s sons who shouted next and when Bilbo glanced at the dwarves’ area, he saw Fíli and Kíli nodding vigorously in agreement.

 

“Will all of you just shut up!” Lady Arwen’s voice broke out, her expression frightfully annoyed at the interruption. “I wish to learn what happened to the lovers.” She muttered, sitting back down and brushing away any imaginary wrinkles on her gown.

 

“Indeed,” Thorin muttered. Bilbo watched, unimpressed, as the dwarf king looked at him and gave a stiff bow. “Sincere apologies, Master Halfling. Please continue.” 

 

Bilbo clenched his jaw at the derogatory name before shaking his head and sighing. “I will continue if you lot just let me speak instead of interrupting.” He muttered and crossed his arms, raising his brow at the audience.

 

Eager nods and quick promises were made and Bilbo got to resume his story again.

 

“One thing I failed to mention to you all is how sharp the hobbitlass’s mind was. It was sharp and quick to find solutions. So when she heard the elf lord’s request, she smiled amiably and took the golden comb in her hair. A gift of her beloved. She then handed it to the elf lord with a soft pat and she asked him to fashion plates and utensils enough to feed his twelve dignitaries to accompany the feast she was to make.”

 

A cheer went round the Hall and this, Bilbo allowed for there was no exclamations that interrupted his tale.

 

“Knowing he was beaten, the elf lord tossed the golden comb back at the smiling hobbitlass and left her in the forest. Not before he commanded her to meet with him the following day for her second trial.”

 

“Lad can’t take a loss well, can he?” Bofur spoke with a howling laugh. Nori snickered.

 

Bilbo shrugged.

 

“I suppose it could be a paternal protectiveness. But it is no excuse.” Bilbo answered calmly, “Nonetheless, the hobbitlass did follow as he’d told her and that was well and fine.”

 

“And the challenge?” It was their host that asked. Lord Elrond’s voice was hushed when he asked, almost sounding as if he dreaded to hear what the elf lord in Bilbo’s faerie story had to throw at the heroine.

 

Bilbo grinned.

 

“Simple enough. He gave her a sheep and asked her to trade it for gold but that she must return the beast to him alive and whole.” Shrugging, Bilbo took to picking at loose threads of his trousers, “So the hobbitlass sheared the sheep’s fleece, sold it at the market and returned the animal to the elf lord the next day.”

 

More cheers and Bilbo chuckled. He never thought elves to have been so energetic and the fact that the animosity between the two races seemed to have been forgotten was another positive to this tale.

 

“But of course, the elf lord pointed out that his beast was no longer whole.” Bilbo hated to see the joy disappear from his captive audience’s faces and a mutinous expression was on Glorfindel’s face. When he looked at the Company, he was positive Dwalin wanted to kill him for not giving the hobbitlass a break from the elf lord.

 

“Ahem. Yes. Well, the hobbitlass put him to rights though.” Bilbo did not speak hastily, but he did not prolong his companions’ agony over the heroine’s fate. “She pointed out that his beast was safe and that the sheep’s fleece was just alive as her hair. So by every sense of the word, the beast was still whole.”

 

Bilbo did not let out a relieved breath when his audience let out excited tittering.

 

“Angry, the elf lord left. But he bade the hobbitlass to come the next day for her third and final trial.” A frustrated groan was heard from the dwarves’ end.

 

“For the love of Mahal’s Anvil.” Thorin muttered, rubbing his face roughly. “What will it take for that damn elf to accept that his son and the she-halfling are Ones?” 

 

While Bilbo still bristled at being called a halfling, he was glad to see the dour dwarf invested in his tale. Even if he could see Thorin’s eye twitching when Bilbo mentioned the final trial.

 

“Patience.” Was all Bilbo said before launching into the final trial. “As before, the hobbitlass met the elf lord with the sunny disposition she had greeted him with and as before, the elf lord simply told her her trial.” Taking in a soft breath, Bilbo decided it be best to tell everyone the trial as fast as possible. Like ripping a bandage off. 

 

“He claimed to be ill and that only a bull’s milk can heal him. He added that should the hobbitlass fail in this, she shall be executed.”

 

As expected, another outraged cry rang through the Hall. Lord Elrond no longer held back his scorn for the unnamed elf lord while Glorfindel spat out curses at the cheat. Even Arwen was beyond livid as she shouted out her anger with her brothers.

 

The dwarves were not dealing well with the trial either. Thorin was deathly quiet but when Bilbo looked at the dwarf king’s eyes, he noted a fiery anger in him. Fíli and Kíli was shouting profanities at who he assumed and hoped was the elf lord. Dwalin was muttering promises of a painful death to the elf lord were he to be found while Balin was pale with repressed anger.

 

Bilbo only sighed and closed his eyes, giving a few moments to allow the lot of them to calm down before he finished his tale.

 

“But!” Bilbo raised his voice slightly to be heard over the loud shouting of the dwarves and elves alike. Silence descended almost immediately and he felt all eyes on him once more, “The hobbitlass only smiled and promised him she shall deliver, provided he give her a day to prepare.”

 

Looking to his audience, he smiled.

 

“The elf lord granted her request under the belief that she would fail.” Bilbo let out a loud laugh, “But the moment the hobbitlass came home, she slaughtered a pig on her father’s bedsheets that night and proceeded to wash it in the river that went through the forest.” He saw confusion on everyone’s faces and he allowed the thought to sink in for a few moments.

 

“Now, the elf lord had thought to bathe in the river within the forest and he had bidden his subjects not to wash the night before so it may be clean for when he bathes.” Bilbo bit back a smile when he heard the dwarves grumbling about the pretentiousness of elves, “But come morning, as he bathed, he was shocked to see blood mixed into the water. He flew into a rage and ordered his people to find out who caused the blood.”

 

“The hobbitlass was found out.” There was terror in Bofur’s voice, Bilbo nodded in confirmation and grinned.

 

“The elf lord demanded an explanation from her as to why she stained the river with blood. The hobbitlass only shrugged and told him of how she had no choice but to wash her father’s bedsheets as he bore her a sibling the night before.” 

 

There was silence.

 

Then the Hall erupted in loud cheering, the dwarves stomped their boots in excitement and the elves let out loud laughter that was unbecoming for their lithe, elegant features.

 

“And how did the elf lord take it?” Arwen asked eagerly, her eyes shining in amusement and excitement. 

 

Bilbo laughed, “Well, he exclaimed how men don’t give birth, of course!” Shaking his head, Bilbo recalled how he asked his mother if the elf lord had not heard of that possibility. According to his mother, elves might not know such things were possible. 

 

Wiping away tears that gathered in his eyes due to laughter, he grinned.

 

“The hobbitlass only nodded and gestured to the elf lord, ‘ _ There’s your answer with bull’s milk, Your Lordship. _ ’

 

The elf lord fumed, but he had caused such a ruckus that his subjects had come to witness the final trial. So he knew he could not extend it to another day nor could he back out. So grudgingly, he gave the hobbitlass his blessing to wed his son.”

 

More cheers. Ori had raised a hand amid the chaos and Bilbo nodded to urge Ori to speak his mind.

 

“What’s the name of the elf lord’s son and the hobbitlass?” Ori asked meekly, Bilbo grinned.

 

“Well, I’m not sure if I’ve got the  name right for the elf lord’s son but I believe it is Marto and for the hobbitlass?” He paused and tapped his finger against his leg before finishing, “Her name was Hemlock Took.”

 

When the elves and dwarves had been satisfied by his tale, Bilbo had excused himself immediately of their company and left to wander the gardens. He did not realise someone had followed him until he heard the snapping of a twig which caused him to turn round almost immediately.

 

It was Thorin.

 

“Goodness me!” He bit back a curse and practically leapt out his skin at the sight of the dwarf lord.

 

Thorin had the good graces to look guilty for startling him. So that much was good.

 

“What on earth would you want, Master Oakenshield?” Bilbo asked, raising a brow. The dwarf-king responded by walking towards him.

 

“That was quite the tale, Master Burglar.” Was all he said. Bilbo sighed.

 

_ Better than halfling.  _ He reminded himself.

 

“Thank you, Master Oakenshield.” Bilbo mumbled. He was used to praise for his storytelling even if it was just a retelling. But he never knew how to react when one of another race found his story gripping enough for them to be emotional about it.

 

“I may have a dislike for elves, but...I can excuse it this one time for the sake of those two.” Bilbo snorted. It must be some sort of holiday then. Thorin always seemed to be incapable of setting aside his grudges but for the sake of love? Stars forbid that he hate it!

 

Dwarves were as romantic - if not even more so - than elves. 

 

“Well, I suppose my mother’s ancestor would be pleased you enjoyed their love story then.” Thorin stilled and he looked at Bilbo oddly, Bilbo cleared his throat and proceeded to walk faster from the dwarf.

 

No doubt the revelation that his Took ancestor married an elf would have spread in the Company come daylight with his yammering. And he just  _ had  _ to tell it to the one that hated elves with a passion.

 

“Master Baggins, wait!”

 

But he didn’t wait.

 

He just sped up further until he was alone in a Hall he knew nothing of.


	3. The Portrait

It was a fair while before their Company Burglar told them a tale again. What with the hobbit refusing to speak with any of them after Thorin discovered his secret. After that, they literally lost the time for such fanciful pastimes. They escaped Rivendell, climbed the Misty Mountains, they encountered stone giants of old. Then the goblins caught them and before long, they were prisoners and it was only after the wizard had rescued them that they had realised their burglar was missing.

 

Thorin was ashamed to admit that he wrongfully accused the burglar of abandoning them.

 

It was a relief when he was proven wrong. But there was no time for making amends - just yet - for soon after, they were chased by Azog and his warg-riders. It was by their luck that eagles had saved them after Thorin was felled and here they were now, making camp near a river in hopes of resting for a short while before they continue on with their quest.

 

Thorin let out a soft breath and allowed his sister-sons to nestle in closer to him. After he was brought back from the brink of death, he found himself incapable of begrudging his nephews’ touch on his person. Fíli who was oft content to follow his commands was deathly silent and it was only when he embraced the boy that his fair-haired nephew broke down sobbing. Kíli on the other hand shouted at him for a quarter of an hour before embracing him tightly.

 

He will not forbid them from assuring themselves that he lives still.

 

It was midday when his sister-sons had decided to pester their burglar for more tales but the hobbit only raised a brow at them and returned to his attempts at repairing his coat. (Though it was more of a rag than a coat at this point, but perhaps Thorin could speak to Dori about some repairs later.)

 

“And what story would you ask of me?” The burglar sighed, setting down his coat. Thorin chuckled when he caught sight of his sister-sons exchanging quick words.

 

“Well,” Fíli paused awhile before grinning, “You already shared to us a story of historical value and a love story, I was curious if you knew any ghost stories?”

 

Thorin grew aware of Kíli snickering behind his brother and he raised a brow. Clearly, they were not expecting the hobbit to know anything of such tales. But he caught their burglar’s eyes and took note of a mischievous glint in them. He smirked, it appears their burglar had an idea and this he looked forward to hearing a great deal.

 

“Well, lad, I’m afraid this is another personal tale for you but this _does_ have a ghost involved to some very small extent.” Thorin raised his brows at Bilbo’s words and he chuckled.

 

“It appears you have a fondness for such tales.” Thorin found himself commenting on the Hobbit’s tendency to tell tales from his own experiences. “You seem to have experienced many things to be counted as a faerie story.”

 

Their burglar could only look at him with a small smile before shrugging.

 

Bilbo gestured for Fíli and Kíli to come closer before he finally took notice of Ori looking longingly at their little group. Thorin only smiled and gestured for the young scribe to join his sister-sons before turning his attention solely on their burglar.

 

Their Hobbit cleared his throat and looked at them all with a glint in his eyes. “Have any of you encountered cursed items?”

 

With wide eyes, Fíli and Kíli shook their heads.

 

Thorin furrowed his brows.

 

Ori proceeded to take his journal out.

 

“Have you?” Thorin knew the answer already but still he asked. Bilbo smiled and it was a smile that seemed to tell him all he needed to know.

 

“A painting.” An ice-cold chill settled at his spine and he nodded for the Hobbit to continue.

 

From a stranger’s point of view, Thorin felt that Bilbo would have appeared as if he were relaxed but he saw the slight tensing of his muscles before immediately easing his posturing. He noticed the slight tremble in his fingers as the Hobbit straightened his waistcoat.

 

He did not know how to feel about this tale but he felt it would be something he would not forget.

 

“I do believe it was one of my cousins’ birthdays when I received it.” It was such an offhand thing to say that Thorin felt his brows rise.

 

“An unfortunate day to receive an unfortunate thing.”He muttered, Bilbo only smiled.

 

“I don’t think Filibert would have wanted such a dark thing to be given to me.” Their Hobbit told him soothingly. Yet Thorin did not feel appeased. “He just gave it to me as a mathom. Something to decorate Bag End with and I accepted it.”

 

“Surely there would be an indicator?” Kíli asked this with his commonly easy grin, though Thorin looked at his sister-son and noticed there was a flash of wariness. “At least a small sign to show it’s cursed?”

 

He understood why there was a wariness to his youngest nephew.

 

Bilbo only shook his head.

 

“The painting had so many things going on in the foreground that you are drawn to it more than what is happening behind.” The Hobbit explained carefully, “You see, it was such a charming little piece. It was a festival - a _fiesta_ if you will - with hobbitlads and hobbitlasses dancing on benches and climbing oiled bamboos. There were bright colours nearly everywhere; even the musicians were colourfully painted.” A flash of a smile appeared on their Hobbit’s face.

 

“I could almost believe I was there for I distantly remember a harvest festival like that taking place-” It was as if saying it out loud gave Bilbo a revelation and Thorin felt a flash of concern in him when he saw the Hobbit grow pale.

 

“Bilbo?” Ori was the first one to stand but their Hobbit could only shake his head.

 

“It’s nothing.” It was as if their Hobbit magically recovered from whatever it was that shook his soul. But once more, Thorin did not question it.

 

“The painting was given to me by a cousin, Filibert, he said it was a wedding gift from Celandine and CornusGreenhand’s wedding. I was just past my majority that time and was wanting something to distract myself from being alone in my parents’ home and I decided to accept it for want of a new item to disrupt the memories in every furniture present in that smial.

 

I supposed that that is what loneliness can do to a person. It would make them yearn for the loss of their own memories to escape your grief.” Smiling more to himself than to anyone else, Bilbo continued, “So I stayed long after the wedding before I stumbled back into the smial with my gift and without laying eyes on it and without bothering to think, I took down my parents’ portraits and hung the painting there.”

 

Thorin looked dumbfoundedly at their Hobbit, unable to process what he had done. Who in their right mind would take down the memories of their parents? Who would willingly remove any signs that they had even lived and given you being? He did not understand this and yet he found himself almost sympathetic to their burglar’s emotional plight.

 

“Were your parents recently passed then?” He felt it might have been intrusive to ask but what other reason was there for their Hobbit to do such a thing? He seemed to treasure his parents’ memories a great deal as of late with the fuss he kicked up in his hobbithole if his sister-sons were to be believed.

 

The response he received was a mild nod. Then, a self-deprecating smile, “Rather pitiful, don’t you think?”

 

Thorin wanted to say no. To assure Bilbo that grief had a fierce hold on everyone and everyone had their ways of dealing with it. Granted, it was not the way of the dwarrow to forget their family, but it could perhaps be the way of grief to force Men and Hobbits alike to act in that way. Yet despite his desire to comfort Bilbo, he was unable to. Bilbo only smiled at him before resuming his tale.

 

“It didn’t take too long to make me sleep.” Bilbo mumbled, chuckling slightly, “I was rather drunk, you see and all it took was for my head to hit the pillow for me to finally fall unconscious.” Bilbo paused, and then the glint in Bilbo’s eyes returned.

 

“That was when the nightmare happened.” Thorin frowned. In the span of time they had spent, he was loathe to admit that he had quite forgotten Bilbo’s story.

 

“It was such a simple but vivid dream,” Bilbo started, his brows knitting together in concentration as he struggled to recall his dream. “I was present in that little party in the painting and I found nothing wrong with that. I did just receive that painting so of course I assumed it was out of fondness for the merry little piece that I had thought of dreaming it.” Bilbo paused and pursed his lips.

 

“I would and could have believed all those excuses I thought of if it wasn’t for the out of place fellow in the painting.” Thorin leaned forward in intrigue. What could be out of place in such a gathering?

 

“You see, in the gathering I was in, there was a Man.” Thorin raised his brows at their burglar. He felt like it had made no mention of Men there before but here it was now. “He was a sullen looking thing and he seemed to be wearing ill-fitting and tattered clothes. You would think that the others would have steered clear of him but no, they spoke to him and laughed with him. They seemed to be perfectly welcoming of him.”

 

Thorin shrugged, “It may have been that he looked to be an unlikable sort but that he had made the people fond of him through interacting with them.” He explained. Thorin would be the first to admit that he was always wary of anyone who would dare think of endearing themselves to him through currying favours but he had seen how Men are.

 

But the Hobbit only shook his head. “The fellow looked too much to be antisocial that I wonder why he was in the gathering in the first place.” Bilbo paused, his brows furrowing, “Now I remember it, I don’t think the fellow was even in the painting.” The Hobbit’s gaze met Thorin’s and Thorin felt something in him stop.

 

“At least…not at the first night.”

 

That was enough to seize Fíli, Kíli and Ori’s attentions all at once and even Thorin found himself wary at what their burglar might have meant by that.

 

Noticing his rapt audience, Bilbo smiled at them all. “Yes, a magically appearing man in the painting; how odd.” Odd. That was one way to put it all. Yet somehow that was not the most important part of the story. At least, not to Thorin and his companions.

 

“Did…did the man do anything in your dream?” Ori asked softly, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe.

 

Their Hobbit responded with a slight nod. “Yes. He was at first just standing around looking at the dancers and musicians. But after some time, he left the feast.” Bilbo pressed his lips together tightly before he continued, “After he had left, I decided to follow him. I followed him deep into the woods but every step made me dread what I might find.

 

I followed him until we reached a clearing and what I saw made my stomach turn.

 

In that clearing, you see, was a hobbitlass no older the three years past her majority. She was picking wildflowers and humming a Shire lullaby and the man stalked towards her as if she were his prey.” Thorin felt his blood chill at what their burglar had said.

 

Was it possible that the hobbitlass they were being told of was murdered by the man?

 

“The hobbitlass seemed unaware about the Man approaching her and even when she noticed his presence, she only gave him a disarming smile and asked him what he wanted. The man did not answer her and only proceeded to trace the flesh of her neck with his index finger.” Thorin did not fault Bilbo in shuddering the way he did.

 

Even Thorin grew uncomfortable at the Man’s gesture. It felt intrusive.

 

“Surely, the…hobbitlass would have learned that this Man was untrustworthy?” Bilbo looked at Ori before shaking his head.

 

“The hobbitlass only smiled with a bit of confusion on her face and asked the Man if he needed help with anything, the Man only silenced her by pressing his thumb on her lips.” Bilbo shook his head, “That was the first night, I woke up after that and I barely thought anything of it.”

 

“What happened on the second night?” It was Kíli that had asked this and Bilbo waved a hand as if to hint at something vaguely.

 

“The second night proceeded much like the first in that I dreamt of the gathering, followed the man and saw his actions towards the hobbitlass. But this time, I didn’t wake up straight away like the first night. No, I think waking up like the way I did the first night would have been a mercy.” Something darkened in Bilbo’s eyes and Thorin found it an unwelcome change.

 

“For I had stayed and I saw the Man bend down to the hobbitlass’s ear. His lips were moving but I cannot read his lips, I cannot even catch a single clue as to what it was he was saying. All I know was that it was enough to make the hobbitlass freeze. It was enough to make her grow frightened and to back away from the man.”

 

“But she was unable to?” Thorin asked. He was aware of his heart beating fast in concern for a hobbitlass that was most likely dead by now.

 

Bilbo shook his head. “I was hoping she was able to run away because I woke up before I could discover what happened.” Thorin could hear his nephews groan in frustration at what had happened. Bilbo smiled apologetically.

 

“Did this happen frequently?” Fíli asked, brows furrowed as he clapped a hand on Kíli’s mouth, muffling his brother’s complaints.

 

Bilbo nodded.

 

“For the duration of time it stayed in Bag End? Yes, it happened…” But then their hobbit paused and shook his head, “Actually, let me recant that.It happened for a specific length of time in Bag End but afterwards, I just had a constant feeling of dread when I was near it.”

 

Kíli frowned and pushed Fíli’s hand away from his mouth.

 

“Was the man in the painting by then?” Bilbo smiled.

 

“He was beginning to. When I woke up, I ran to the painting and what I saw made me assume that someone had broken into my smial to paint on it.” Bilbo snorted, it was undignified but Thorin still found himself smiling at that noise. “Well, you see the reason I’d thought that is because of the fact that there were the beginnings of a painting in the farthest part of the background. Right behind a couple leaping onto a bench, was the man in my dream.Or at least…what _will_ be the man in my dream.”

 

“Like…a sketch?” Ori asked, his brows knitted together in confusion.

 

Bilbo only shook his head in response.

 

“No, it was more like someone had decided to immediately begin painting the man without that kind of planning.” Breathing in softly, Bilbo continued, “After this, the dream began a pattern. Every night, I would dream the start and it would continue on a little bit more than where I left it the night before. And every morning, I would see the painting of the man in the background grow more and more clear and defined with every detail that was added to it.”

 

Thorin frowned, the fact that their burglar was avoiding the details made him curious as to what exactly happened. From the look on Bilbo’s face, he knew that something horrible happened to the hobbitlass but still he pushed on.

 

“Is it possible that you tell us what happened to the hobbitlass?” He heard his voice asking before he was even aware of thinking it. Bilbo looked at him and gave a slight nod.

 

“The third night showed me how the Man stalked towards her as she had done what she can to back away from him. How he looked to be a deranged madman as he reached out a hand to wrap around her throat. But I woke up just when her mouth opened to scream.” Bilbo’s jaw clenched and the darkness in their burglar’s eyes grew even moreso.

 

“The next night, the dream played out as usual and this time I heard her scream. But no one heard it. She was so deep into the woods with the Man that no one could have heard it.” Their Hobbit shuddered a bit before he met Thorin’s gaze, “She didn’t die through the strangulation, though.”

 

Thorin swallowed thickly when Bilbo said that.

 

“I only had time enough to see him reach for a sharp stone but after that, I woke again.” Had this been any story, Thorin would have complained of the constant stopping and going of the tale. But he found himself enraptured by Bilbo’s voice along with anxious to hear the end of this tale. This…sequence of dreams.

 

“Following night, I became witness to how he bashed the poor girl’s head in with that sharp rock. How the rock made an indentation into her skull and how it later on was embedded into her head, her screams dying out with her life.” Bilbo looked pale when he said this but Thorin could only watch and listen. He did not know the best way to comfort their burglar.

 

He knew what to do when his sister-sons were hurting or when his sister grew grim with reminders of what they lost. He knew what to do when Balin calls him late into the night to help Dwalin through his night terrors. But he did not know Bilbo for as long as any of them. He only knew that Bilbo was used to the comforts of home.

 

“Was that the end of your dreams, Bilbo?” Kíli asked, his eyes wide with horror at the description of the hobbitlass’s murder.

 

Bilbo’s expression was enough of an answer for him.

 

“If it was then I would have slept better somehow.” Bilbo muttered, looking at Kíli with an expression Thorin found himself unable to read. “But the dream continued on from where her murder left of.”

 

“What did you see?” Fíli looked wary, but also curious. It was something about his eldest sister-son that made him smile. How Fíli would still try to find what he wants to find despite feeling frightened or overwhelmed.

 

Bilbo was quiet for a few moments before he answered, “I saw how her body was disposed of.” He whispered, “It was tied to heavy stones by the Man and she was dropped into a river in that part of the woods. He tore off his shirt to get rid of the bloodstains that made its way to the fabric and left the woods. He…did not return to the Shire after that.”

 

There was a long pause before Bilbo looked at Fíli, “That dream took three days to finish.”

 

Eight days of dreams. Eight days of having to live through a dream where you witness a murder. Eight days of having to replay that dream until you reach the end of it.

 

“After those dreams ended, I decided to ask around if they knew anything of such an incident.”

 

“Was there?” Bilbo nodded to Thorin. Thorin waited for Bilbo to relay what had happened.

 

Bilbo did not disappoint.

 

“There _was_ a hobbitlass that was murdered in the Shire during a festival. Her attacker was never caught but the one who had found her body was a human as well. He seemed heartbroken when he brought her body back to her family according to the witnesses.” Bilbo paused and bit at his lips. “They said her body was found in the river and from the way she was decomposing, it was _eight days_ after her murder when she was found. She was identified to be Celandine Greenhand’s first cousin and best friend.”

 

Thorin was silent, an ice cold fear settling at the pit of his stomach. Bilbo pushed on with his tale, however.

 

“The Man that had found her returned two weeks later and gave Celandine a painting, saying that in his grief he wanted to make something happy to bring some light for those that had lost a good friend in the hobbitlass.” Thorin grimaced. That may have been the goal of the Man but even then it turned for the worse at the end of it all. “The Man was said to have been either a very dear friend to the hobbitlass or something even closer. But no one really knew and no one ever will.”

 

“Why?” Kíli looked genuinely confused and Bilbo shrugged.

 

“He left Bree the next day and no one really got a clue where he headed off to.” There was silence between them all for a moment or two before Bilbo let out a nervous chuckle and clapped his hands together.

 

“Well, I suppose it _should_ have been a ghost story for the boys but I apologise that it turned out into something else.” Thorin shook his head, wanting to stop Bilbo from apologising from imparting a tale upon them.

 

“It was a good tale, Master Baggins.” Thorin looked at Bilbo and offered him a small smile, “Granted, it was grimmer for the life it was centred around and how it was ended. But it was good and you owe us no apologies.” Bilbo looked doubtful at his reassurance but he nodded and just smiled at Thorin.

 

“Well, if you’re certain, Master Oakenshield.” Bilbo mumbled before making a nod to him and smiling at the boys.

 

“I do apologise for not making it as frightful as I’d have liked.” Fíli and Kíli only grinned and shook their heads at his apology.

 

“It was fine, Bilbo. It wasn’t a ghost story but it was a fine story nonetheless!” Ori even nodded along as if to confirm it.

 

Bilbo nodded again before leaving, telling them that he needed a quiet place to finish mending his jacket.

 

Thorin forgot to ask if the murderer ever found justice.


	4. The Crying Trees

Bilbo next told a story to the Company when they were inside Mirkwood. He wasn’t expecting them to ask him if he knew of any story in regards to forests. But they did and he decided to comply. Granted, when they’d asked him, it was a bit more of a mocking question but at the end of the day, Bilbo told them a story and that was that.

 

The question was brought up in their third day wandering the forest of Mirkwood when its darkness and disease was starting to take its toll on their nerves. Day and night were no longer separable for light can no longer be seen and they only stopped to make camp when exhaustion can no longer be ignored.

 

They were all preparing to sleep when they heard the creaks and moans that seemed to come from the trees. Kíli let out a yelp while Bofur cursed out at the night air. Bilbo looked up from his bedroll and raised his brows at the nervous dwarrows, his lips twitched up in amusement.

 

It was an almost endearing sight despite the tension in the air.

 

While no one said anything about the trees, Bilbo had taken note that all of his travelling companions had grown more wary of the plant life that surrounded them more than anything else. He was not lying that Mirkwood _did_ make him feel terrible but he was not as jumpy or as wary as the rest when they travelled after they got some hours’ sleep.

 

“You’d think that the roads here would be closed off if the forest looked _this_ bad.” Kíli muttered as he shook out his bedroll to bury himself under the blanket.

 

Fíli looked up from where he was unrolling his own bedroll and shrugged, “If they closed the paths to Mirkwood then it would take longer to make trade with any of the kingdoms beyond it.” The fair-haired dwarrow pointed out calmly.

 

Kíli grumbled and shivered when a biting cold wind rushed past them.

 

“I bet the Shire’s forestry doesn’t look this bad.” Kíli muttered, “After all, the Lady of Bilbo’s did live there once upon a time.”

 

Bilbo shrugged, “I suppose you’re right that it didn’t look this horrible.” He agreed with a small smile, “But then again most forests don’t look to be this much of a wreck.”

 

Bofur let out a low whistle, “So you’re sayin’ that the Elvenking’sworse off than the wee mortals he can’t even be bothered to help?”

 

Almost immediately, a chuckle arose from some of the Company members. Bilbo sighed and shook his head. It was somewhat petty to hear such things just for everyone else to laugh at the poor King’s predicament but in a way, Bofur was not wrong in that statement.

 

“The Elvenking is in a worse situation in terms of forestry and safety,” Bilbo agreed, though his voice was slow as he pondered on what to say, “and I suppose in his surety in his home remaining as his home as well.”

 

“What do you mean by that, Bilbo?” Fíli asked, his brows furrowing at what Bilbo had said. Bilbo sighed.

 

“Well from what I’ve seen here, it looks like the Elvenking is losing his home without any invasion save for the forest’s rot.” He explained patiently, “If it wasn’t so, then would you not have seen some elf homes around here like in Rivendell? Wouldn’t you have seen elves running around and having lively businesses to conduct?” Pressing his lips together, he shook his head.

 

“From the way it looks to a stranger, the Elvenking seems to be losing the amount of land he can have proper control of and in the process; he loses land for which his people can have a home in.”

 

There was silence around the camp and Bilbo did not know if it was a good silence or not. But he managed to catch Thorin’s gaze and saw a mixture of curiosity and anger in those eyes. He did not know whether the anger was directed at him or not.

 

“You seem to be sympathetic towards the elves, Master Baggins.” Bilbo smiled at Thorin and nodded.

 

“As sympathetic as one can afford to be to every stranger I had and had not yet met.” It was an unexpected surprise to him when Thorin nodded as if conceding to his point.

 

It was at that moment that a wailing sound filled the air and Kíli let out another curse causing Thorin to smile slightly. “And to the trees?” He asked almost teasingly, “Are you sympathetic to the trees as well, Master Baggins?”

 

Bilbo paused and pondered carefully what Thorin might have meant by that question and decided to answer it anyway, regardless of what Thorin might have intended.

 

“In some ways, yes I am sympathetic to the trees.” Keeping his eyes on Thorin, Bilbo continued, “For they suffer more than they should and I don’t think any living being whether they can talk or not would deserve the slow death they are suffering right now.”

 

“What makes you so sure that trees are even alive?” Kíli asked, his brows knitting together in confusion.

 

Bilbo snorted and was about to respond when Nori cut in before a word even left his lips.

 

“Knowing Bilbo, he would most likely have a faerie story for that.” Nori said with a bit of a mocking tone, “For some reason, Bilbo always seems to have a faerie story for everything.”

 

Smiling, Bilbo raised his brows at Nori and allowed a smirk to grace his lips. Though he knew it was meant to mock his tendency to tell stories, Bilbo felt some Tookishness in him rise up to the dare he saw in Nori’s eyes.

 

“Actually, Master Nori, you are right that I do have a faerie story for living trees.” And though he would rather not tell them this story due to how it had made him distraught as a sapling once a long time ago in his youth, he figured that it wouldn’t harm anyone if he did.

 

There was a pause before Bofur let out a laugh and Thorin chuckled. Nori on the other hand remained silent but there was a glint in his eyes that made Bilbo think that the dwarf might have been impressed by him.

 

“And what is this tale about, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked, Bilbo noticed how young the Dwarf-king looked when he was smiling but made no mention of it.

 

Bilbo instead returned the smile he received and tried to think of the best way to describe his story.

 

“Well, it’s a story of sacrifice and of love for family.” Bilbo supposed it was the best way to describe this story, “And I suppose it was just another story that cements the horrors that we can throw at anyone that is not our own.”

 

There was a short silence before Ori spoke and Bilbo had suspected it would be Ori to break that silence what with the boy’s thirst for knowledge and stories. Fiction or otherwise.

 

“Could you tell it to us, Bilbo?” Bilbo wanted to say yes but he wanted to make sure they would not be wasting time if he did so. So he turned to face Thorin who only dipped his head into a nod and smiled.

 

“You may as well, Master Baggins. Humour us with another faerie story, if you will.” Bilbo smiled.

 

“Very well then, I suppose I will tell you all about ‘The Crying Trees’.” Settling himself upon his bedroll and wrapping himself with the blanket that was packed with it, Bilbo smiled and waited until everyone had made themselves as comfortable as they can afford to be.

 

“Long ago, when the world was young and new to everything that surrounds it and humansand all their allies were nought but a thought in the Valar’s minds, trees roamed the earth free and joyous.” Bilbo could practically hear his mother’s lilting voice as he echoed her very words.

 

“That sounds terrifying.” Bofur muttered. Bilbo raised a brow at his friend who only looked at him and shrugged slightly, “It’s true.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Bilbo pressed on. “In one particular forest - one forest that ceased to exist - was a large family of trees.” Bilbo smiled and looked at his travelling companions, “It is an odd thing, I suppose, to imagine trees having families, but that was the way of life before we were even a thought in the Valar’s minds.”

 

He could feel Thorin’s gaze on him and Bilbo resolved not to feel anxious at what the Dwarf-king was thinking in regards to his tales.

 

“This family of trees were just like any other family nowadays. There were mothers and fathers, cousins, aunts and uncles and of course, there were children.” Bilbo chuckled and ignored the confused expressions on some of the dwarrows, “But there was only one grandparent in this particular family. He was simply called Grandfather Tree, for what else can we call him?”

 

“Perhaps we can call him by name if he had one?” Kíli said this with a bit of a frown, Bilbo smiled.

 

“I suppose we could have if we even knew his name.” Bilbo mused, “Unfortunately, no one ever bothered giving him a name and so he is only Grandfather Tree.”

 

Kíli looked as if he wanted to object to what Bilbo was saying, as if the young lad wanted to find a way to give the old tree a name that he was denied of. Bilbo only smiled reassuringly at Kíli. The name never mattered in this story, after all.

 

“Now, the family of trees lived in peace and harmony, there were no quarrels to be had and no tears to be shed. They had only ever known joy and love and that was perhaps one failing that was given to them.”

 

“And why would you say that’s a failing, laddie?” It was Balin that had spoken, Bilbo looked and though he expected confusion, he was pleasantly surprised to see understanding in Balin’s gaze.

 

“I suppose it would be a failing if all people had known were ease and comfort for then they would not know what to do in times of hardship.” Bilbo replied, feeling himself smile when Balin gave him an approving nod.

 

“The trees had continued on in this way of life through many years, for they did not really die, it was many more years before elves, humans and dwarves were finally brought to life. And when word reached the particular family where we are focusing upon, Grandfather Tree immediately grew wary of the new arrivals of the earth and bade his family never to approach the lands where Men roamed lest anything untoward happened to them.

 

For a time, the family did their best to follow their elder’s words. They had kept away from where the elves, men and dwarves were resided in and had done all they can to learn where it is no longer safe. For a time, their ways worked.”

 

“When did it end?” Ori asked. Bilbo was silent.

 

He could have easily ended the story abruptly as it would have but he had always wondered about that same thing whenever his mother transitioned the tale into the grim ending it always had. Did the trees even have any signs that their end drew near? He was never sure of it as a child.And so, as an adult, he decided to give them that sign that was not mentioned.

 

“I think that their ways began to end when the trees of the other forests began retreating into themselves.” It was an improvised part of the story, but Bilbo was pleased to have been able to make it work. “With the reign of elves, dwarves and men growing stronger in the lands, the trees began taking note of the loss of some of their brethren and wanted to escape the pain that their kind had been subjected to in their felling. So they retreated themselves further into themselves so as to not feel the pain when their time comes.”

 

A hushed murmuring arose among the Company and Bilbo observed what his swift addition to the story had caused. He saw troubled expressions upon the faces of his friends and upon Thorin’s face, was one of comprehension and of horror that was awaiting confirmation.

 

“What of the Grandfather Tree’s family?” Thorin asked softly, Bilbo smiled reassuringly, wanting nothing more than to put them at ease. At least…for the time being.

 

“Well, they were still untouched by men, elves and dwarves alike, so they still roamed around, free to be themselves and free to play when they wish. But Grandfather Tree began looking out beyond the horizon, dreading the day that the newcomers would come to slaughter his family.” Bilbo paused for a few moments before he spoke once more, “He was well-founded in his wariness for soon after, he began seeing campfire smokes in the distance. And he felt his heart sink - if trees even had hearts - to the very bottom of his being.”

 

“The family…they were slaughtered?” It was Thorin that had spoken once more, his voice having grown softer with a dawning horror.

 

Bilbo started before raising his hands and shaking his head, hoping to banish those thoughts from Thorin’s mind. “No, no, no! It’s not that they were slaughtered but…” Bilbo stopped speaking, trying to find a way to phrase the words properly. “They lived.” It was a simple way to say it but that was it. “The family lived when the settlers came.”

 

He could remember his mother telling him this bedtime story and how he would just stay silent but feel his heart sink at every word after. And now he could in a way understand why it was that his mother had done her best to tell him a different story every night or that she would give him a second story after she tells him this particular one.

 

“It was Grandfather Tree who had called his family to him, you see, he told them of the coming settlers and how his family must flee come nightfall for he feels they shall come by dawn.” Bilbo paused and took in a steadying breath, “He on the other hand, will be staying behind to block the path his family had taken.”

 

And just as Bilbo had once done when he was still a child, he heard his traveling companions shout out in protest at that plan.

 

“Surely, there would be another way?” Kíli asked desperately, his brother however only looked as if he expected that to be the only outcome in the tale.

 

“What else can he do, Kee?” Fíli asked, his brows knitted together, “The settlers are coming their way likely to find lumber to make houses with and for firewood as well, the least he can do is to find a way to protect his family and to prolong their lives the best way he can. If they all went together then the settlers would still scatter beyond the settlement to find lumber and wood which would in turn have to be the family.”

 

Bilbo only nodded to show he agreed with the fair-haired prince’s words before he pushed on, “Grandfather Tree was a large and thick tree that is able to block our pathways if he was here with us.” He remembered how his father had illustrated Grandfather Tree and how his father had drawn the rest of the family afterwards.Bilbo had always been awed by the sheer size Grandfather Tree was always said to possess.

 

“He was confident that his size and width would be able to buy his family enough time for them to make off to another part of the world where they would not be hunted and hurt. And so, though reluctant, his family prepared to leave come nightfall.” Once more, protests arose and Bilbo did not quiet their protests for he could not blame them.

 

“And the family did not try to take him with them? To persuade him that he wouldn’t need to sacrifice himself?” It was Dori that had spoken and Bilbo looked at the silver-haired dwarf who was looking at him as if Bilbo had decided to announce that he ate puppies.

 

Bilbo only shook his head, “Unfortunately not.” He sighed, “You see, this is one of the few cases in which we can truly say that there was no other way but through this.”

 

“Will it be enough, do you think?” This time it was Bombur that had asked this and Bilbo paused, fingered a buttonhole of his red coat, and smiled though it was a grim one.

 

“It was.” Looking up into the dark foliage of trees overhead, Bilbo moved his lips though it was soundless for a few moments, “Now, you lot kept believing that no one had done what they can to convince Grandfather Tree to join them in their flight but there were.”

 

A pause followed.

 

“The children.” Sharp breaths were taken in by the Company and Bilbo nodded silently, “They who loved Grandfather Tree the most had begged him to come with them. But even when his heart ached for the young trees’ tears, he knew he cannot and must not come with them for if he did then there would be none who shall protect his family. So with weathered branches he caressed their faces and bade them leave.

 

He did not cry in front of them but his heart did ache for the grief of the little ones. Yet despite all his heartaches, he found it in him to give them a last advice.

 

‘You must leave me so you all may live, little ones.’ He had said with a small smile, ‘You must all live on for my sake and greet the new day in my memory. For you are all that shall remember our joys and laughter and I wish for you to have that chance that many had been stolen away from.’

 

And though the children wept bitterly, they were borne away by their parents.” Bilbo paused, knowing that that was the end for what happened with the children and Grandfather Tree but he wanted to add some semblance of comfort for their tale. “The children kept looking back to wave to Grandfather Tree who smiled on and waved back.”

 

“And is that the end of your tale, Master Baggins?” It was Thorin once more and his voice was almost impossible to be heard despite the silence. Bilbo did not want to do it but he shook his head and he heard Ori let out a noise of distress.

 

“The settlers came as was expected. By then Grandfather Tree’s family had come relatively far that the settlers would not have found them but that they can still see their Grandfather from even that distance. And with that view, they were able to see Grandfather Tree’s form shudder and shake as he took every blow of the settlers’ axes. Despite their safety, they felt every blow keenly as if they were being cut down as well.

 

They had done all they can to make as large a distance between themselves and the settlers but when they were certain that they had come far enough that they would not be found, they stopped. They had lost their strength and will to push on when they had caught sight of Grandfather Tree’s form being felled by that final axe blow.” As Bilbo gazed around the camp, he could make out the resignation in the Company’s faces. He felt that they knew what will happen.

 

Though this never happened in the faerie story of his youth, he decided to make it happen in this retelling he was doing.

 

“Grief-stricken and lost, the family of trees held onto each other and allowed themselves to burrow themselves deeper into their minds. They wanted nothing more to do with this world than to be lost in it and to be forgotten that they had ever lived. By the time the settlers had found the family of trees that were just now an unmoving forest, they were shocked to see an odd substance running down their barks. It almost appeared to the settlers that the trees had been crying.”

 

There was a silence afterwards. No one dared speak and Bilbo allowed them the silence. It was Kíli who had broken it with a soft voice that sounded like he was about to burst into tears, he asked, “Did the trees at least live on?”

 

Bilbo shrugged. Unlike his other tales where he had a sure answer, this one never had a sure ending. Not even as a child.For all he knew, this fictional forest might have been cut down by the settlers and they no longer lived on. But he supposed that was the beauty of it all, they all can pretend that a more hopeful ending befell the grieved family.

 

Thorin did not look pleased at the ending but Bilbo did not expect him to be. Getting up from his bedroll, Bilbo approached Thorin and placed a hand on his shoulder. He did not acknowledge the part in him that wanted to tell Thorin that he was there if Thorin ever needed comfort for anything. Thorin jolted and looked at Bilbo before dipping his head into a nod.

 

“That was…a sombre tale, Master Baggins.” He commented, his voice eerily soft, Bilbo smiled.

 

“I suppose it is.” He agreed, “But the comfort in the unsurety of this ending is how we can take hope that if this forest of trees ever existed that they had lived on despite their minds having withdrawn from the world.”

 

He did not know what else to tell Thorin other than this and he supposed that that was enough for him. Smiling, Bilbo bade his companions good night and he did not tease the younger dwarrows for burrowing at his side when he drifted off to sleep.

 

Soon after that, Bilbo had noticed how the Company never made fun of the dying trees in Mirkwood anymore so much as that they cursed the darkness that befell the forest.


	5. The Legend of the Lizard

Thorin watched with amusement as Bilbo sneezed yet again. They had been liberated from Mirkwood just two days past and they were now residing in a rather large house that the Master of Laketown had given him when Bilbo had taken ill from the fact that he had no barrel to escape in. Thorin was not one to lie that he had felt panicked when he had seen Bilbo collapsed upon the floor of his quarters and that Thorin had shouted for Oin the moment he had seen their burglar unconscious.

Fortunately for them, Bilbo was stubborn. Very much so. And here he was, recovering faster than they expected. Though even then, Thorin had asked Bilbo to rest for a day or two more before the hobbit even thought of venturing outside in the gathering chill of winter. Unfortunately, asking this of Bilbo also meant that Bilbo had no means of entertainment and though Thorin appreciated his sister-sons teaching Bilbo the various braiding styles and their meanings, he was not keen to see Bilbo practice those braids on any member of his company, so he had shooed the two away and had found a book he could read to Bilbo.

Much to his dismay, he took the first book he found without perusing its contents and when he opened it to read it to Bilbo, found that it was a book explaining the procedure of amputation and other gruesome medical proceedings.He tossed the book outside Bilbo’s quarters the moment he caught sight of the book’s contents and assured Bilbo it was a dull topic and surely there were better ways to entertain him?

Thankfully, there were other ways. Among them was hearing Bilbo speak of his kin, both with fondness and with ire and another was hearing short stories of his youth. Thorin found that he rather liked hearing Bilbo tell more tales, even moreso now that the tales being told were only to him as if he was the only one worthy enough to hear Bilbo’s stories.

“Master Baggins?” His voice was gentler nowadays when he was with Bilbo. It was mostly due to the fact that he did not wish to worsen their burglar’s state when he was already starting to get better. Nothing more.

Bilbo looked at him with a smile and Thorin smiled back.

“Yes, Thorin?” The ease Bilbo had with using his name – though it was his outer name – made him feel warm. It was similar to the way he feels whenever Fíli and Kíli tells him of their newest accomplishments or when Dís accompanies his harp with her voice when comfort was sought after in their house.

It felt personal and intimately just for him that he felt glad when Bilbo spoke to him in such a fashion.

“Do your people know of any more legends?” He asked softly, leaning towards Bilbo a mite as he wanted to hear Bilbo better.

Bilbo chuckled, “By legends, I\m assuming you’d like to hear a story that was like the Crying Trees where it was not tied to actual history?” He asked with an almost teasing smile, a mischievous glint twinkling in the eyes that never seemed to settle on a colour.

Thorin nodded and ducked his head in an almost bashful manner. He appreciated Bilbo sharing tales of his past that wasan entertaining or poignant part of his history but Thorin had wanted Bilbo’s history to remain his and to only be shared when he feels it is appropriate and not as simply a bedtime story.Tales such as the ones Bilbo had told deserved a better treatment altogether. All history deserved a better treatment than to be told simply as a bedtime story. History, in his understanding, was to be revered.

Bilbo answered him by nodding. “I do know of some legends that was a more entertaining way of explaining how something turned out the way it did.”

Interest flared up inside of him and Thorin smiled, “Can you tell me one?” He knew he sounded like a pebble who was about to hear his first battle story from their favourite warrior, but he did not find it in himself to care. Not one bit.

All he knew and felt was that Bilbo was going to tell him a story that he knew he would enjoy.

To his delight – though he refuses to admit it as such – Bilbo patted the space beside him on his bed as an invitation to sit there. Thorin did not hesitate in accepting Bilbo’s offer and had promptly seated himself beside Bilbo so that the hobbit would not have to raise his voice any louder than he was comfortable with and so that Thorin could hear Bilbo’s every word without mishearing it in any way.

“Now, I’m thinking of telling you a favourite legend of mine due to how there was a moral to the tale but I apologise in advance that this is not one with a happy ending either.” Thorin felt his lips twitch into a smile at Bilbo’s words. He had noticed the hobbit’s tendency to tell stories that had grim endings despite his cheerful disposition.

And though he knew that in most cases where he encountered someone who had a tendency to tell tales where it all ended with deaths and grief would have ended in his avoidance of that person, he found that he was willing to hear Bilbo tell his story no matter the ending. He supposed it was the charm to the hobbit that almost every story he told them would result in a deep reaction that rang through their very soul.

“What legend is your tale about, Master Baggins?”

“It’s called the Legend of the Lizard, Thorin.” Bilbo let out a chuckle and Thorin echoed his companion. “I know it’s a rather straightforward titling that I had always found to be terribly convenient as a sapling.”

“Do not worry, Master Baggins, I rather like the simplicity of the title.” And that was no lie. He found that through such a simple title it was enough for anyone and everyone to be able to understand what it was that was being told to them. 

Being given a final smile, Bilbo began his tale and through that, Thorin hung onto his every word as if it were Mahal himself that were speaking to him.

“The tale began sometime during mankind’s youth where a young man lived on a farm with his aging mother. He was a good sort; kind-hearted, obedient and courteous to all he met. It was all in thanks to how his mother had raised him and he was thankful to his mother for that. His mother had loved him a great deal, raised him to be as good as he was despite not having a father in his life and had even seen to it that he had a fair amount of intelligence so he would be able to get by in the world easier. They were, I think, a united front that could have been called inseparable if the Old Gods had not decided to test the young man’s loyalty to his family.”

Thorin tilted his head slightly at the beginning of the tale. He did not voice his curiosity nor did he voice his question as to who the Old Gods were and why they deemed it necessary to test a youth whose heart was pure. He wanted to ask these to Bilbo but he felt that all would come to light eventually. 

“The Old Gods, you see, were one to want to see how strong a will can be and if that will is enough to hold back human temptation. They were not malevolent though they seem to be, they were well-meaning and as kind as any god can afford to be. So when they saw a young man who seems to be too good to be true, they held some doubts despite the fact that they rather liked him for his bond with his mother and the kindness he had for others. And so they put someone in the young man’s path, they knew who she was and what she was capable of and they knew she was one they had chosen to pass judgement on all young men who wore a mask that hid a darker heart but still they asked her to come and see if his heart was as pure as they see from the outside.” 

Thorin no longer found himself capable of keeping his questions to himself due to his growing curiosity, “Who is this ‘she’ that you spoke of and why do the Old Gods deem it necessary to test young men in such a fashion?” Bilbo shrugged.

“Ithink it’s so that they would know what is truly inside a person’s heart and not just what they see.” Bilbo paused then added, “And she is someone who a large part of the Shire calls a rather long name. I’ll tell you later of her name.”

Thorin nodded, acquiescing to Bilbo’s words and allowing the hobbit to continue telling the legend. 

“The woman they had calledcame to the young man’s village. She came with the story of being a visiting relative of one of the ill residents a few ways off the village who was just buying some vegetables. No one questioned this story and they readily traded with her, among them was the young man who was selling his mother’s crops.

The moment his gaze fell on the woman, he felt his heart beat faster and he felt an emotion he can never name until that day. He fell in love.

The young man had sold the woman his wares for less than what they were worth and the woman only responded with a smile before leaving.” Thorin felt himself scowl at the immediate attraction the youth had felt, unsure how to take it.

He was not against finding love. But an immediate love like this was dangerous if one was not well-acquainted with the person that had caught their interest.

“The young man still feels the naïve notions of romance.” He muttered, Bilbo chuckled and shrugged.

“Can we fault him?” Bilbo asked, the look in his face enough to have Thorin shaking his head. “At a young age, we are all exposed to romance and how we think it should happen. The young man is no different.”

Bilbo continued, “The woman’s trips to the market became a frequent occurrence. She would come everyday to buy some food she would be cooking and she would stop by the young man’s stall. The young man always gave her the best produce for her and her relative before she thanked him and left.” Bilbo pressed his lips together before sighing.

“It continued on until the day the woman deigned to speak with him. This made him elated that the woman had finally decided he had done well enough he can speak with her and everyday he showered her with compliments and spoke to her of everything he can think of. 

The woman only remained quiet when he spoke to her and would say only a few words before leaving.”

“The woman the Gods had sent, she sounds to be indifferent from him.” Thorin observed, his brows knitting together as he pondered on this. 

Bilbo nodded at his observation, “She was, and she was doing it just to see who would keep pursuing her despite showing disinterest.”

Thorin felt himself tense, “So the young man failed?” Bilbo did not answer but Thorin had a hunch he knew what the end was.

“One day, the woman had finally asked him if he can walk her to her home. This meant he would need to close the stall he ran early and the young man did so without any hesitation.” Thorin let out a curse and only Bilbo’s hand on his leg kept him from getting more frustrated at the naïve young man.

“Giddy that he was going to be escorting the lady that caught his eye home, the young man kept chattering to her, hoping to catch her interest. It came to a head that in his ramblings, he blurted out how he was willing to do anything for her to love him back.” Thorin felt ice trickle down his spine when he heard that. 

It was a heavy oath to make. A heavy plea. Yet the man still made it and Thorin dreaded to think what the woman would ask.

Bilbo answered his unasked question.

“The woman told the young man she needed only one thing from him.” A pause. “She asked him to murder his mother and to give her his mother’s heart as proof of his undying love for her.”

Thorin felt his heart drop and he swallowed thickly. Throughout the tale, ever since the woman had arrived, not a word was told of the young man’s mother. Not even a reaction from her when her son sold their wares for less than what it actually cost. It made him worry what will happen. Was the young man so naïve to the world that he would be willing to do this crime?

From the expression on Bilbo’s face, it was clear that that was the route the young man took.

“That young man is a fool.” Thorin had spat out, feeling rage well up deep within him. What kind of child would willingly murder a mother who loved him all for a stranger he barely knew anything of? “What makes him certain that this woman would reciprocate her love once he murders his mother as some form of sacrifice?” 

Had he been made to choose between kin and strangers, he would have kept to the one that had known him far longer. But this…was the fickleness of Men and he should not have expected any less from them.

Bilbo remained silent in his tirade and only kept his hand upon Thorin’s leg, waiting for Thorin to calm down and to quiet himself. When Thorin had managed to calm himself enough, he nodded to his companion, Bilbo only smiled with a small hint of amusement.

“It’s alright, Thorin.” Bilbo soothed, patting Thorin’s leg reassuringly. “I don’t think I have met anyone who actually approved of the young man’s choice.”

Though it did not ease his tension, Thorin appreciated the fact that Bilbo had assured him that he was not the only one who disapproved of the young man’s decision.

“As you know by now, Thorin, the young man readily agreed to the woman’s terms due to how enraptured he was by the woman’s smiles and laughs.” Thorin felt his jaw clench at how the young man was easily won over. Did the foolish boy have no notion of what is wrong to what is right? “He walked her all the way to a copse of trees where the woman claims her house is. Telling the young man to bring his mother’s heart to her by moonrise the next day, the woman gave him a brush on the cheek with her lips, causing the young man to smile and to skip home to his mother.

That sealed the young man’s fate.” Thorin should have felt concerned for the young man but he only felt unsurprised. The action he was about to do would lead to him paying a heavy price. He was about to take the life of one who loved him dearly for one who was only showing beauty and that made him question the young man’s judgement.

By the expression on Bilbo’s face as he continued on with the story, it was like his hobbit did not mind that he was not the least bit fond of the young man.

“The young man returned home to his mother who had not in the least grown suspicious of her son’s current habit of selling their vegetables at a lower price. Her son having told her that he was selling them to a poverty-stricken family only repeated his lie. His mother told him of how proud she was of him, kissing him on his cheek and patting his head as she had since he was little.

But the young man felt none of that now. He only felt the woman’s lips brushing against his skin and her sweet scent is the only scent he could smell in his small home where his mother was cooking his favourite dish.” Bilbo smiled grimly, “The Old Gods were right not to trust someone whose appearance is too perfect for sometimes, they are the ones capable of the worst evils.” 

Thorin could only agree with Bilbo in his silence.

“When his mother had fallen asleep, the young man had crept into her room armed with a knife. His mind was filled with thoughts of the woman and how if he killed his mother then the woman would love him and smile her breathtaking smiles at him and him alone. He was filled with fantasies of weddings and children and with the woman’s laughter ringing in his ears, he plunged the knife into his mother’s chest.”Thorin felt all breath leave him.

The young man had no honour. 

Even in anger, Thorin would never harm one who was defenceless against him. And in sleep, there was nothing more defenceless than that.

“With his mother’s blood spilling onto the floor of their home, the young man dragged his mother’s corpse outside to the garden where he proceeded to carve her heart out with the same knife he had killed her with. He felt a remorse in him for his actions, but he had consoled himself in his sorrow that when he weds the woman with the beautiful laugh then he will not have to feel such pain and sorrow.” Thorin felt sick as he heard what the young man had done. He doubted the youth even had a clue about what the woman’s name was and yet he deludes himself in the belief that this woman would love him back.

“With his mother’s heart finally gone from her chest, still warm with her life’s blood, the young man carefully wrapped it in a green scarf that was once his mother’s and hid the organ in a wooden box. He slept that night plagued with nightmares of his action that slowly turned into dreams of his and the woman’s wedding when he finally presents her with the proof of his love.” Bilbo paused and shivered slightly, Thorin went closer to his companion when he saw his hobbit shivering.He felt relief flare up in him when Bilbo said nothing as he wrapped an arm around the hobbit’s shoulder.

“But as I’ve said before, the Old Gods sent her to test him and it is clear that this woman will show no interest in the young man no matter what.”

“The young man will pay the price for murdering his mother.” Thorin had known that was likely what the legend would be about. After all, what else could this legend be leading to?

Bilbo did not answer him but his hobbit pushed on.

“The young man eagerly waited for the moon to come up, the box holding his mother’s heart already in his hands. He was not told by the woman where they shall meet for her to accept his ill-gotten tribute and so he assumed that they shall be meeting at the copse of trees where he escorted the woman to.

He waited for the woman as darkness blanketed the village and as the lights began to appear in every window. The young man waited patiently until he heard the woman’s voice softly humming a tune.

Eagerly he straightened up his posture and did his best to look presentable, deaf to the funeral dirge the woman sang with her sweet, clear voice. The woman had already known what he had done to his mother and was ready to pass judgement on the young man’s foolishness.

As she came into view of the young man, he saw her dressed in white with sweet-smelling flowers crowning her head. Her steps were light and dainty and her arms swung back and forth as she carried a basket that was covered by a black cloth. He did not bother looking at her face that held an expression of utter disdain that grew stronger with every step closer she took to him.”

“The woman sounds like a walking contradiction of what she appears to be and what she truly is.” Thorin observed. “The woman presented herself as a bride yet a funeral dirge leaves her lips. She walked like a maiden in love yet her expression was twisted to one of hatred.”

Bilbo smiled, “Well, I suppose the woman was giving the young man one more illusion to fool his senses.” He mused with a slight shrug. “I wouldn’t put it past her to test him one last time to see if he was truly in love with her or just the idea of her.”

Though he would have despised such tests a great deal if it were him or his nephews tested, Thorin did not question the woman’s plan. It made sense to him during that time while he shared his warmth with Bilbo in that humid, rotting town on a lake and he dared not question it when it came from his hobbit’s lips.

“I wonder what would have happened had the young man simply acted as if the woman was simply a normal customer before opting to befriend her whenever she comes to the market.” Thorin mused, his lips twitching as Bilbo rested his head on Thorin’s shoulder, both enjoying the company of the other.

Bilbo sighed, “Well, if the young man had done that then that would mean that the tale would never have been thought up of and the young man might have saved himself the horrible fate he would receive for his folly.”

Thorin thought that that would have been a kinder end indeed.

“When the woman finally came upon him, the man felt his heartbeat quickenas he greeted her with a breathless awe. The woman only remained quiet with her smile plastered on her face before she raised her brows to him as the only sign that she had heard his greeting.

‘Did you bring your proof of love?’ The woman asked with a sweet voice that caused the man’s heart to flutter.

The man nodded and presented her with the box. The woman lifted the lid and took out the now cold heart wrapped in the green shawl of the young man’s mother. 

‘Proof of my undying love to you.’ The young man whispered. ‘For I love you more than any other and it is only you that can satisfy this eternal hunger.’

The young woman remained silent for a moment as she gazed at the mother’s heart. The young man waited for her to say something. He was expecting her to smile and to kiss him upon the presentation of his gift but she did neither. For when the woman looked up, her ire blazed in her dark eyes and it was fierce enough to throw the young man to the ground in his fear as he hurriedly scrambled backwards from her.”

“So the woman is about to proclaim her verdict then?” Thorin asked, his brows raised.

Bilbo nodded, “I always believed that she had decided on his verdict ever since she had met the young man but that may just be me.”

Thorin paused and thought over the hobbit’s theory in regards to the woman’s judgement. He did not grow up hearing this legend, but as he thought of it, he leaned towards Bilbo’s belief and agreed to what his hobbit had to say.

“I highly doubt it is just you, Master Baggins.” He murmured, Bilbo looked at him with a surprised expression before he smiled.

“Well I’m glad that I am not alone in that then, Thorin.” And with that, Bilbo continued with his tale.

“As the young man did his best to run from the woman before him, he saw the woman’s appearance begin to change. It was not the change that changes her from young to old or fair to foul but one that melted off the rags and patchwork of her garbs to the robes befitting a queen of another world. Her hair no longer hung limply at her shoulders but floated as if she were submerged in water and her once dark eyes glowed with a light from within.

Through the man’s fearful tremors, he was able to hear the woman spit one word at him.

‘Impure.’

He did not know the meaning behind her verdict but he trembled as she advanced towards him, certain he shall regret the day he had laid eyes on her. With every step she took on the bare earth, plants grew rapidly and wilted as her feet touched and left the ground and had the man made a better choice in life, he might have seen it as something beautiful. But seeing as he had made a grave mistake, he only saw it as the death knells ringing for his soul, the bloodhounds of Mandos baying for his blood.

And all through it, he did not know what he did wrong.”

Thorin wanted to disbelieve what was told to him. Surely no one can be this dense? Surely no one is this ignorant?

“How can he be unaware of what he did wrong?” He asked, his voice low in his anger that was only quelled by Bilbo’s hand on his leg, “He murdered his mother and still he is unsure of what crime he did?”

Bilbo was quiet for but a few moments before he sighed, “Sometimes, I believe that people have skewed perceptions of love and that some souls are so keen to feel a romantic love that they are willing to do anything for them to receive such a love that every wrong they do for that love becomes justified to them in their own minds.”

It was a sound explanation but still Thorin did not like it. Bilbo saw his expression and gave him a sympathetic smile as he patted Thorin’s leg again before he continued.

“It did not take long for the young man to lose a place to hide in so he remains hidden from the woman for soon she stood before him with disgust clear in her expression and a white and gold glow misting round her fingers and the man broke down.

He pleaded for his life, he begged for forgiveness for a crime he did not know of, he prostrated himself to the woman and promised her eternal servitude. But for all his words and promises, the woman remained unmoved.

‘Where are your pretty words now, mortal filth?’ the woman asked, bending down so his eyes may meet hers to see her anger and hate towards him.

The young man only sobbed and sought his mother’s comfort. But as he thought of his mother’s embrace, he recalled what he had done and he sobbed harder. The woman looked at him and sneered.

‘Now your actions weigh heavy in your heart for you have torn the heart from the woman that gave you life and love to give to one who will never feel the same for you.’ The woman paused, ‘Has it ever occurred to you that my smiles were only meant for friendship?’ She asked with a dangerously quiet voice.

The man did not reply and the woman had her answer.

She took the heart out of the green shawl of the mother and carefully buried it underground before she draped the young man in the green fabric. The young man trembled as he felt biting cold flesh against the warmth of his own but he only watched the woman with fear. She only kept silent as she did all this.”

“The green shawl…” Thorin looked at Bilbo, “That is the lizard’s skin, is it not?” 

Bilbo nodded with a grin, “You have thankfully caught on easily, Thorin.”

Thorin was not too proud to admit that he preened when Bilbo had praised him. He knew many would have figured out the same thing but he felt like this tale was meant for just him and Bilbo.

“When she had finished with her actions, the woman stepped back and looked at him with a blank expression. Her glowing eyes were cold and hard as she regarded the cowering young man now having the posturing of a frightened boy.

‘You cower there, dreading what will become of you.’ The woman said as she circled the young man, ‘I can promise you you have good reason to be cowering.’ She spat.

She reached out to the young man and pressed her palm against his forehead causing the young man to scream in fright. The woman clucked her tongue dispassionately at him before she spoke his sentence.

‘As punishment for the crime you had committed, you shall be a beast as a mirror towards your beastly act.’ The woman had intoned, ‘You will forever wear the green shawl of your mother in your skin and at evening, the time you had murdered her, you shall fall to the ground and kiss the dirt on which you had spilled her blood upon.’

As the young man sobbed wretchedly, the woman only looked at him with a lack of affection. She waved her hand and slowly he began to transform before her. He hunched over himself and began shrinking, the shawl melding itself into his skin as his hair receded into his head. He continued transforming before the woman until he no longer resembled himself but an odd reptilian thing, small and making no sound but it was doing as the woman had said. It was kissing the ground where the woman had buried the young man’s mother’s heart.”

“And that is the end of the story?” Thorin asked. Bilbo shrugged in response.

“That was how it had always been told to me.” Bilbo explained, “I never dared question it.” 

Thorin knew that he should be satisfied that justice was finally brought upon the mother’s murder but he felt a confused ache for the young man instead. He pondered over it before sighing.

“I pray this will not insult you, Master Baggins, but I wish to make an addition to your tale.” Bilbo looked surprised at what Thorin had said but he said nothing. Thorin pushed on, “I will say that the woman had given the young man a chance at redemption in her own little way. That if he had spent enough of his time repenting and serving penance for his mother’s murder, then he shall be given a love so he shall not be the lone creature of his kind. And this is what led to the multiplication of lizards in many regions of Arda.”

There was silence that sank between them and for a few moments, Thorin worried that he had insulted Bilbo. That was, until Bilbo smiled a dazzling smile before clapping Thorin’s shoulder.

“I can’t have told a better ending myself, Thorin!”Bilbo looked very impressed at the ending Thorin thought of and the dwarf king smiled in relief at that. 

He was not expecting Bilbo to like what he thought of but knowing that Bilbo liked it made Thorin keen to participate in more storytelling when his hobbit thought to share more Shire stories to the Company.

“I am glad you liked it, Master Baggins.” Thorin murmured, his smile widening at Bilbo’s blinding smile.

They both lapsed into silence for a few short moments before Thorin spoke once more. “I should like to think myself better off than the young man.” He murmured, “For I had always withheld my people’s declaration of love from others until I feel like they have earned my trust and confidence.”

Bilbo’s gaze never left him as he leaned closer, “Oh? And how do your people say ‘I love you’ just so I would know when someone was fortunate enough to bear your trust and confidence?” Thorin knew the teasing tone Bilbo used meant that he did not have to reply, but still he did.

For he knew that once Bilbo asked him something, he found that he was more than willing to grant Bilbo’s request.

“Men lananubukhs menu.” He breathed out those words the way he would a prayer and when those three words left his lips, Bilbo parted his lips and mouthed out the sentence as well.

In those eyes that seemed never to settle on a colour, he saw Bilbo commit the sentence to memory.

Thorin smiled, “And what of you, Master Baggins? Is Westron the only way you can speak or is there a deeper language for your people?”

Bilbo readily answered him.

“Westron is something we hobbits use to speak to outsiders but we do have a deeper language.” Bilbo paused before nodding to himself as if deciding on something, “In Hobbitish, we say ‘Mahal kita’ as our way of saying ‘I love you’.” 

Thorin listened to Bilbo’s language with awe. Mahal. The name of his Maker was invoked in the expressing of affection and for that, Thorin felt himself grow fonderfor his burglar than he already was. He swallowed past the lump in his throat that had appeared when he felt a stirring in his chest like a bird wakening for flight.

“And what do your people say to refer to their One?” He breathed out, his voice coming out in a rasp.

Bilbo smiled, “We say ‘Aking irog’ for ‘My love’.” Bilbo paused before nodding towards him. Thorin understood what the hobbit meant. Bilbo wished to trade words and Thorin nodded. Another good way to keep Bilbo from leaving his bed too soon, he reasoned with himself.

“Ghivashel.”

Their exchange lasted well through the day and well into the early eve where they were still translating and teaching one another their languages, voices hushed like schoolchildren playing truant from their lessons. Thorin almost forgot about dinner and he was not ashamed one jot that Balin had to knock on Bilbo’s door just to get them out for now he knew what to tell his beloved in Hobbitish if he wants them to know how much he loves them.

And Bilbo knew how to say the same amount of sentences even if the only sentence Bilbo kept repeating to himself was ‘I love you’.


	6. The Legend of the Sampaguita

Everything had gone so wrong.

They were meant to be rejoicing that their troubles with Smaug were over and that they no longer need to worry about their lives or the quest. But as soon as they had rid themselves of the pest, Bilbo had noticed a change befall most of the members of the Company and he felt his stomach drop.

Day after day those members would wander the treasury and they would burden themselves with cumbersome treasures. They would bedeck themselves with chains and broaches and rings and Bilbo and the few remaining members who had kept their sanity would watch in silence as they too began getting impatient and aggravated as they feverishly searched for the Arkenstone.

Thorin was the worst off among them.

Ever since they had entered the mountain, it was as if a great change befell Thorin and gone was the dwarf who only a few days ago was cheerily swapping languages with Bilbo and a different dwarf took over. One who ignored everyone else and demanded they all search for an over-glorified rock that people swore their loyalty to instead of their king. Day and night Thorin had forced them to search and he would shout at them if they were not found.

He had even gone so far as to openly berate Fíli when Fíli had proposed they all rest from the search when the young prince had taken note of some company members’ exhaustion.

Bilbo watched as Thorin dug through mountains and hills of gold and jewels with a manic drive before Bilbo felt sick and could no longer bear the sight of it. He turned away and came face to face with Ori, Balin, Bifur, Fíli and Kíli who were looking just as grim. Bilbo nodded to them and made to leave to the small nook he had taken to sleeping in when Fíli reached out a hand to stop him.

When Bilbo looked at the fair-haired prince, he saw a plea in his eyes that was begging him to stay.

“Tell us a story?” Fíli asked. His voice small and soft and sounding more like an unsure boy than a Crown Prince groomed to be King Under the Mountain.

Bilbo hesitated until he saw his companions’ faces and realised that they too were seeking a distraction from the anguish of seeing their kith and kin gold-mad. Bilbo had no other response to think of other than to smile and nod.

He was led away from his nook and towards a different part of the mountain. Bilbo had not seen the other company members around this area yet the others seemed familiar enough with it. Ori had pressed himself against Bilbo’s side and Kíli practically hid himself under Bilbo’s arm while Balin and Bifur stayed at the back to keep watch. When Fíli stopped walking, they were in front of an open room where a nest of pillows, mattresses and blankets were arranged and a fire roared at the centre of the room. Bilbo looked at the arrangement in curiosity and Fíli smiled at the sleeping area but it was bitter.

“Kíli, Ori and I found this large Hall and we thought it would be a good camping ground so we hunted for all these nice things but-“ Fíli cut himself off and looked down. Bilbo understood what the young prince meant and he squeezed Fíli’s arm.

“It looks like a good place to rest in.” Bilbo assured Fíli before smiling at Ori and Kíli, “I’m sure we’re all in need of a good rest.”

Kíli smiled and looked at Bifur and Balin, “Well, Bifur and Balin had been sleeping in here with us when Thorin’s too busy counting coins to care about where any of us are.” Bilbo looked at the dark-haired prince and saw that he mirrored his brother’s resignation, but unlike Fíli, Bilbo also saw the stirrings of anger in the younger prince.

Bilbo didn’t know how much the young princes would be suffering at the sight of their uncle who they practically worshipped and lauded as this great hero falling into the very same madness he would spit at with so much hatred. He looked at the sleepless bags under Fíli’s eyes and how his hair was untended and wild while his younger brother looked worried despite the fact that he looked better off than his elder brother. Bilbo stayed quiet and instead allowed them all to usher him into the hall.

Ori immediately lied down on his lap; an action Bilbo knew Ori to do with his elder brothers and it sunk in on the hobbit just how much the young dwarf might be missing his brothers’ company. Bilbo looked at Bifur and Balin standing a few ways off, they were near enough to hear what Bilbo and the others would say but they were still technically not inside the hall. They did not move when Bilbo called for the two dwarves to join them.

“Balin and Bifur chose to keep guard whenever we want to stay in the hall.” Fíli explained quietly. “I don’t stay in the hall much though since Thorin might get suspicious so I just roam around and then guard with Balin or Bifur when one or the other gets too tired.”

After that explanation, Bilbo understood their caution. Bilbo understood why Fíli looked beyond exhausted. He sighed and nodded. 

“Fíli, be honest with me.” The young prince nodded at Bilbo in response, “Have you slept these past few days at all?”

Fíli’s silence was enough of an answer. 

“I’m scared that if I sleep, I’d wake to the same madness that took Thorin.” Fíli whispered. His voice cracked when he spoke. “I’m scared that I would forget everything that matters to me just for gold that feels wrong.” Bilbo grimaced. 

He understood the young prince’s fear but with how haggard Fíli looked, Bilbo didn’t want to see the young prince faint if he pushed himself too far. If Fíli fainted then it’s likely that Thorin would be beyond displeased and Bilbo feared what this Thorin would do to his nephew if he caught his nephew unconscious while sifting through gold.

“I understand why you’re scared, Fíli. Believe me, I do. But you need to rest.” Bilbo threw a glance at Bifur and Balin, “So since you asked for a story, you need to rest while I tell it.”

“But Thorin-“ Bilbo shook his head, his voice hardening the way he had whenever he had to deal with disputes between his tenants.

“If Thorin questions you then tell him that I forced you to go to sleep and let him see if he can make me cower.” Bilbo responded, his voice being filled with his frustrations and anger the past few days.

Bilbo felt all the fire rush out of him when he caught sight of Ori’s frightened expression and he sighed and gave a small smile to the younger dwarves. 

“I just need you all to rest and I would rather face Thorin to knock some sense into his thick skull rather than have you lot be frightened and sleepless when that is easily avoidable.” He explained as he gestured for Fíli to rest his head on one of the pillow piles. At first, the fair-haired prince looked hesitant but Bilbo gestured again at the pillow pile and Fíli had no other choice other than to rest his head on the plush pillows.

When everyone was as settled as they can get – save for Balin and Bifur who were keeping guard – Bilbo cleared his throat and looked at the audience he seemed to be handling. He smiled as widely as he could to at least reassure everyone that he was as well as he could be and that he looked forward to sharing a story with them.

“So, what story do you lot want to hear?” 

Bilbo knew that the story was just meant to distract them from what was happening to their other companions but he figured that a story really might be able to keep them from going mad in the mountain.He smiled in encouragement at the young dwarves who looked surprised that he would ask them for what they want in a story. 

“Another love story?” Ori mumbled, his voice soft and barely audible. 

“Maybe a love story with a lesson?” Kíli added. 

Fíli stayed quiet for a few moments before he finally spoke, “Could you tell a story about war that finally ends with peace?” 

All these stories made Bilbo nod along and as the three younger dwarves made their requests; Bilbo began seeing a story form in his mind. Something he felt might fit what the three children asked and Bilbo smiled faintly.

“I think I know the right story that has what you seek.” Bilbo mused, running a hand through Ori’s hair while Kíli leaned against him. “It’s called the Legend of the Sampaguita.”

Ori looked confused but also curious at the name and Bilbo allowed him to ask the question he could see burning in his eyes.

“Sam-pa-gi-ta?” Ori repeated the name slowly, his tongue tripping over some parts as he spoke. Bilbo smiled.

“That’s the name of a flower in a part of the Shire.” He explained. “It has a strong scent that we use for hair oils and soaps.” Bilbo paused before adding, “We also put the flowers at the graves of our loved ones and offer garlands of it to the Lady.”

Fíli hummed thoughtfully at Bilbo’s explanation, “It sounds like this flower has a really strong significance in your culture.” Bilbo nodded.

“It does.”

When he saw he had everyone’s attention on him – even Balin and Bifur looked ready to hear the story – Bilbo began.

“A time long, long ago, there used to be two kingdoms situated near one another. Both were ruled by kings who despised the opposing kingdom for long-forgotten wrongs and the kings had taught their subjects to hate the opposing kingdom with the same amount of spite. It came to a point that when the kings had married and they had heirs born to them, they had even raised their heirs to hold that same prejudice toward the opposing kingdom.”

Kíli looked at Bilbo with a confused expression before he asked a question, “How is it possible to continue hating a kingdom for a wrong that was done to them that had been forgotten by history?” The dark-haired prince asked.

Bilbo smiled wryly, “Tell me, why your people hold onto the hatred of elves to all elven realms when only one had wronged you for a reason that is not wholly reasonable?”

Kíli fell silent and Bilbo was pleased to see the younger prince pondering on his question carefully.

“I think…it is because it’s easier to hold onto our anger and spite than to let it go and accept that some things can’t be done.” Kíli finally answered. Bilbo nodded.

“And if people could look past what is easy in regards to disagreements then many things like these could have been avoided. In fact, the kings’ heirs had managed to look past the prejudice.” Bilbo smiled when Fíli looked at him with mild surprise. “It took both to work towards a mutual understanding but they managed to see through it.”

“Can you tell us how the heirs had seen past it, Bilbo?” Fíli asked. Bilbo nodded, knowing the young prince might want to learn from this. 

Even though he knew that his storywas only a faerie story, he figured that the lesson for this one might be something that might help his companions.

“Well as I’ve told you, the kings raised their heirs with the same hatred for the opposing kingdom that the kings bore. And for a time, the heirs thought like their fathers and they often passed harsh judgement at every action that was undertaken by the other kingdom.”

“What are the heirs’ names?” Ori mumbled. Bilbo paused before he smiled.

“Well, for the kingdom of the East, we have Marikit which means ‘beautiful’ and for the kingdom of the West, we have Madayag which means ‘majestic’.” The names he had given to them were just names he thought of at the top of his head. But that was not what he considered important in a story like this. 

“Those are funny sounding names.” Kíli commented, a small smile appearing on his face. Bilbo chuckled.

“Yes, I suppose they do sound funny.” Bilbo agreed, ruffling Kíli’s hair. “Well, funny or no, Marikit and Madayag were known as the East and West’s best warriors. Both were fierce in battle and when faced with enemies, the only thing one can do is to pray for mercy. Many of the Eastern and Western kingdoms loved speculating how the heirs would fight with one another and who would survive and for a time, that was all both kingdoms can do as the heirs never bothered coming near the other kingdom out of disgust for their enemy kingdom.”

“But everything will change that?” Fíli asked.

“For better or worse.” Bilbo replied. “It happened when Marikit was out of their kingdom coming back from a diplomatic journey when they caught sight of a company of soldiers fighting back bandits. Curious, they led their horse towards the attack that was happening and when they saw that the party was being overwhelmed, they proceeded to join the chaos of battle.

When the battle was ended, Marikit was about to leave when one of the soldiers stopped them and asked for their help once more. Marikit did not recognise the soldiers as the Eastern kingdom’s but still they asked what help they can offer. The soldiers stepped aside to reveal an injured warrior collapsed upon the dirt and Marikit recognised the warrior from the portraits they’d seen in tomes and history books. It was Madayag, the heir of the opposing kingdom.

He was bleeding from a wound in his side and Marikit knew that if they wanted it, they could easily overpower these soldiers and rid the Eastern kingdom of the heir that would eventually lead the kingdom to another era of war.”

There was silence before Balin broke it.

“Did Marikit injure Madayag further?” Bilbo replied with a shake of his head.

“Marikit proceeded to take Madayag upon their own horse and they promised Madayag’s soldiers that their leader will be saved from mortal danger. Despite knowing that Marikit must hate Madayag, Marikit still held honour dearly to themself and they still valued the respect given to injured soldiers in times of war. So Marikit made their way back to their kingdom as the night began painting the sky and by the time dark had fallen, Marikit was able to smuggle the injured heir past their kingdom’s walls.

They healed Madayag in secret, knowing full well that their father would have had them execute the heir had Madayag been seen by the king. Madayag stayed unconscious for a sennight and on the eighth day, he stirred and Marikit took that as a sign that he was ready to return to his kingdom. But just as he was about to be lifted by Marikit, Madayag opened his eyes and he saw his saviour.”

A hush washed over the hall and Ori made a worried noise. “Did Marikit do anything?”

Bilbo shook his head, “They can’t move out of shock and Marikit did not know what to do other than to stare back at him. Madayag remained silent for a moment before he asked Marikit why they had not yet killed him when they had the chance. And Marikit answered the same thing they had told themself as they healed Madayag.

‘You are injured. The satisfaction of killing an enemy will be lost upon the disgrace of killing an enemy that is not in the same condition as I.’ 

Madayag did not understand it but he accepted the response. He decided it was better to live by the hands of his opponent than to die by them. He asked Marikit what reward they sought but Marikit only made him stay silent before he was hefted into the Eastern heir’s arms. And just like the time he was brought into the Eastern kingdom, Marikit brought Madayag outside the kingdom under the cover of night.

Marikit brought him to a halfway point before they bade Madayag to make the rest of his journey on foot and just like that, Marikit left Madayag under the moon’s light. They never bothered thinking of why they did not kill Madayag when they had the chance.”

“Why did Marikit not rid themself of Madayag?” Balin asked, “I am glad to know they did not but even I am eager to know their reasons.”

“Marikit cannot kill Madayag for they saw a helpless boy when they laid eyes on the Western heir and they realised that there was no point to kill someone who thinks just like all of them.” Bilbo shrugged, “At least, I believe that that is why Marikit did not kill Madayag.”

Bilbo continued with his tale.

“Seasons passed and though Madayag had resumed his responsibilities as prince, he never quite forgot the day his life was spared by the heir of the opposing kingdom. He caught fleeting glimpses of Marikit as the Eastern heir made their way to neighbouring kingdoms to go on diplomatic visits and it was by chance that Madayag encountered Marikit when he was assigned on a diplomatic visit himself to a kingdom that was both an Eastern and Western ally.

Marikit expressed surprise upon seeing him but they did not say anything else. Despite being in a better state than he had been when he first laid eyes upon Marikit, the Eastern heir still did not attack him. In fact, Marikit had even gone so far as to share their rations with Madayag but Marikit had reasoned with him that they would be able to get through the journey easier with them sharing supplies. And for all his doubts and concerns, Madayag accepted what Marikit had to say.

As they journeyed, Madayag was unsure what to make of Marikit who was very amicable and civil to him and he questioned himself why he was mirroring the Eastern heir’s behaviour. But for all his questioning and caution, Madayag still found that he enjoyed Marikit’s company whenever they stopped for camp. As they neared the kingdom, Marikit and Madayag had grown attached to one another and both had gone so far as to explain each other’s cultures to the other.”

“It’s this journey that made them closer to each another.” Bilbo nodded to Kíli.

“It did not take long for Madayag and Marikit to fall for one another.” Bilbo murmured, “On their way back home, Madayag and Marikit had confessed to one another about their affections for each other and though they knew they can never be together, they both still endeavoured to play make-believe for a short while, they wanted to pretend that a life together was possible for them. But for all their joys and laughter on their shared journey, trouble was brewing in the horizon.And their love no matter how short was about to come to its end.”

“What happened?” Ori asked. His eyes were wide with worry for the characters that Bilbo had told them about.

“A spy for the Western kingdom had seen Marikit and Madayag as the two made their way towards the kingdom both kingdoms were allied to. He assumed the worst and reported immediately to the Western King of his son’s kidnapping and how the Eastern heir will most likely offer him to the Eastern King as proof that the Western kingdom had been conquered. 

Enraged, the Western King declared war upon the Eastern kingdom believing they had taken his son and the Eastern King had been ready for war under the belief that the Western King had threatened the lives of his people for the sport of bloodshed.” 

Bilbo looked at his companions and saw their faces in varying degrees of horror.

“So…they will all die?” Fíli asked, his voice soft and frightened. Bilbo did not respond but he did continue his tale.

“When Marikit had returned to their kingdom, their father accosted them and bade them prepare for war. Marikit felt their heart stop beating at their father’s words for even when they had prejudice against the Western heir, they never wished for war for they felt that there shall be unnecessary deaths in such an occasion.But they knew better than to question their father’s orders and so they prepared for war and donned their armour and sharpened their sword. And all the while, they thought of what had been the catalyst of such a thing and why of all the years in the Western and Eastern kingdom’s existence had the Western kingdom declared war upon them now?

As for Madayag, his return to his kingdom was cause for rejoicing and celebrations. Confused, Madayag had asked his father what all this was and his father relayed what the spy had seen. He was unable to speak of what he and Marikit felt for one another for fear that death would befall either of them and so he remained silent. His silence lasted long enough to hear his father explain that there will be a war between both kingdomsand that Madayag’s mission was to kill his fellow heir who had kidnapped him. Madayag could only follow his king without protest.”

“No! Surely if he told his father that he loved Marikit then all will be well!” Kíli protested, his eyes wide with terror.

“Lad, I believe that even if that prince told his father of his affections for the Eastern heir, nothing will come of it.” Balin sighed and shook his head, “It’s more likely that the king would believe his son afflicted with a spell to make him believe himself to be in love with Marikit and the war would rage all the more.”

Kíli’s protesting died but his eyes never ceased shining with horror at what was to come. Bilbo patted the younger prince’s head reassuringly before he looked at Fíli who looked to be thinking of something. He resolved to ask the prince about what he was thinking later.

“Madayag crept out of his kingdom at midnight, having asked a falcon to bring a missive to Marikit for them to meet at the halfway point between their kingdoms to talk to one another. When he saw Marikit, he saw a warrior ready for battle, their eyes hard and blank as he approached. Madayag fell upon his knees when he came in front of Marikit and he took Marikit’s hand where bitter tears fell from his eyes upon Marikit’s gauntlet.

‘Forgive me.’ Madayag had whispered.

‘There is nothing to forgive.’ Was the soft reply of Marikit. ‘But come sunrise we must be enemies just as we were raised to be.’

Madayag wanted to protest. He wanted to ask Marikit to run away with him and for them to live a life in solace. But he knew better than to ask that. For both he and Marikit were loyal to their kingdoms first and foremost, their hearts were only second to that loyalty. Yet Madayag knew that he did not want this hatred to survive him and Marikit. So he asked his beloved to help him write a document that he wishes to hide within his own armour.” Bilbo smiled when he saw Fíli’s eyes widening. “The document is most likely lost to time now but in that document, he hadwritten about his affections for Marikit and how he had learned to see that Marikit no longer embodied the wrong the Eastern kingdom had committed against his own. Madayag had brought into question the fact that the feud between both kingdoms had been caused by nothing more than a forgotten crime against the other and how progress must be made into forgiving and forgetting that crime.

And when he was finished with his document, he rewrote it for Marikit. The composition of which took them through the night and well into the early waking of the sun.”

“They barely had time for each other.” Ori murmured, eyes misting over. Bilbo sighed and wiped away Ori’s tears.

“Well, I suppose with war, no one has time for anyone.” Bilbo commented, his eyes distant as he spoke. “But the consolation here is that at least Marikit and Madayag were together in their last hours of peace.”

Ori said nothing to dispute that.

“Madayag had told Marikit of his mission where he was required to kill Marikit and Marikit listened carefully. Marikit smiled and nodded when Madayag had finished explaining what he must do.

‘I suppose it is fitting.’ Marikit said. ‘That the man I saved must be my killer.’

Madayag had wanted to refute this statement but he knew that this was the truth. But that was when an idea dawned on him.

‘My love, I refuse to live without you.’ Madayag had told Marikit in a rush. ‘And so I must beg my saviour to be my murderer.’

Marikit was silent for a few moments before Marikit bowed their head and acquiesced to Madayag’s request. ‘Your request is my vow.’ Marikit murmured to their lover.

Madayag laughed wetly. ‘Nay, you are my Vow.’

Come sunrise, the lovers had already parted and had already joined their army in awaiting the battle’s beginning. Marikit in the East and Madayag in the West, both bearing armours and swords. But most of all, both bore their documents.

At their Captains’ horns being blown, the battle had begun.”

Bilbo paused and looked at Balin and Bifur, both of whom were looking at him with rapt attention. Bilbo smiled and continued despite hearing sniffling from the side where Kíli was at.

“The battle lasted through the day and when the sun had set, there was no side that won but both had suffered great losses and when the kings demanded for their children to be brought to them, no soldier came forward to do so. It took the Captain of the East to find Marikit and Madayag’s bodies, both of whom were clasping each other’s hands with a sword mark upon their breasts. And when the document was presented, the kings fell silent after they read what their children had to say.

What their children had written was something they were hesitant to accept. They did not know what to do for their fathers had raised them to hate the other kingdom just like their grandfathers raised their fathers. To simply let go and move on was a foreign concept. And yet for all their hesitance, the kings took that small step forward.

The battle ended and a peace treaty - no matter how brittle - was born.

Years came and went and the kingdoms learned to be civil with one another. Then it learned to be friends and allies. And finally, when the kings’ hair had both gone white and aged lines went deep into their faces, both kingdoms had people from one kingdom to the other living in it.” Bilbo smiled softly. “And that was when a child spotted a plant growing at the old battleground.”

“The Sampaguita.” Ori whispered. Bilbo nodded.

“The child approached that plant and took note of the white flowers with the strong, sweet scent. Enthralled by the flower’s simple beauty, the child reached over to pick a flower. And just as his fingers brushed the petals, he heard it. A soft voice of a man whispering, ‘Sumpa kita. Sumpa kita.’

And beyond the plants, the child glimpsed two people they only ever saw in history books and tomes, chasing each other and laughing. And the child knew then that those two were finally happy contrary to what their schoolmaster had to say.”

“What does it mean?” Fíli asked. Bilbo looked at the prince and raised his brows.

“What does what mean, Fíli?” Fíli made a vague gesture.

“Soom-pa Kee-ta.” His tongue stumbled over the words and Bilbo was tempted to laugh but he just chuckled.

“I suppose if I had to translate it, it could be ‘I swear’ or ‘I vow.” Bilbo explained, his eyes not leaving Fíli’s as he saw comprehension dawning on Fíli’s face.

“But in your understanding,” Fíli murmured, “you took it as ‘You are my vow.’”

Bilbo nodded.

Fíli smiled and looked down, “I like this story. Makes someone choose to look past prejudices to build bridges.” He mumbled before he yawned, “If we ever get a chance to go back to the Shire, could you let us see your flowers?” 

Bilbo chuckled and adjusted his position as Fíli crawled towards him and curled up beside Kíli. “Of course, Fíli.” 

“Thank you for the story, Bilbo.” Kíli mumbled, an arm slung over Ori who had already fallen asleep.

Bilbo smiled and did not reply. He did not move from where he sat and instead kept a hand on the saplings’ backs.

That was how he did not notice a shadow of a crowned figure standing a few ways off from the hall. Had anyone looked closer at that figure, they would have seen clear eyes – the first in days of a maddened glaze in ice blue eyes – shining with repressed emotions at the sight of the youth he wished to protect so far from him along with one who taught him how to confess his feelings through a tongue more foreign than the Gods’ language.

And just as abruptly as the clarity appeared, it was gone and so was the figure. For the gold must be the only thing that mattered and nothing, not even a halfling or the brats he had seen as his own sons can take him from that treasure.


	7. Epilogue

The battle was over.

 

Five armies warred against one another with three united against two. Many losses were had and countless more were injured. But at the end of the day, the three armies came out victorious. Now that a brittle peace was to be had by all for a length of time that they do not know, it was finally time for the three armies to lick their wounds and oversee their hurts. Among those with the gravest of injuries were the members of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.

 

A large tent had been erected to house the Company with the help of Lord Dáin Ironfoot and none were permitted to disturb the dwarrows inside lest it be for medical aid.For most of the eve, healers came and went with Lord Dáin’s son leading the dwarven healers and though the dwarf lord was hesitant to accept aid from elves, Tirannaniel, the head healer of the Mirkwood army had come and gone from the tent as well. Both dwarven and elven healers had done all they can to restore the company members’ health and they had succeeded but there were three who still slept through the pain-numbing draught administered to them.

 

One among them was the fair-haired Heir Apparent whose eyes had refused to open after he was felled by arrows.

 

Another among the three was the dark-haired prince who had lost blood after a goblin crudely amputated his arm.

 

And finally, there was the King Under the Mountain whose heart was barely beating after he was shot by numerous arrows and cut by poisoned blades.

 

The company had witnessed as healers crowded around the direct line of Durin, eager to make an attempt to keep their souls within the realm of Arda. And by moonfall’s passing and sunrise’s coming, the line of Durin was in a state of stability that only left their bodies and souls to make the decision if they would wish to live.

 

By that time, the company had given the line of Durin some space for their rest to be undisturbed and very few lingered near their comatose forms. Among those that refused to leave the line of Durin was the one most wronged by Durin’s blood. A Halfling with bloodied copper curls bent over Thorin Oakenshield and held the callused hands of the dwarf king as his lips moved rapidly in prayer to a being no one knows of.

 

The Halfling did not weep or beg but he prayed. His eyes were dry and though his hands trembled in his anguish, the Halfling still held firm as he attempted to give the dwarf king a reason for his heart to continue beating. That was after all, what Lord Dáin’s son had told him now that their bodies were as healed as they can be.

 

When no answer came for his prayers, the Halfling attempted to wake the dwarf king by reminding him of what he had to live for.

 

“You are not allowed to die, you hear me you dolt?” Bilbo hissed as he squeezed unmoving hands tightly. “You still need to fix all the wreckage you lot caused to Erebor and I think Dáin would curse your death if you leave him with the mess you made.”

 

 

He did not know if he can be heard but still the hobbit pressed on, “And I still need to take you and your nephews back to the Shire so you can see a proper hobbit festival and so your nephews can see the flowers I told them about.”

 

He thought of the wintertime celebrations in the Shire and his heart ached as he thought of how he would have liked the whole company practically eating him through house and home once more. For years he did not know how lonely he had gotten and how closed off he became and then dwarves plundered his home and taught him laughter.

 

“What do I need to tell you for you to open your eyes?” Bilbo whispered.

 

It was almost as if he had uttered a spell for the tent had grown eerily silent and a breeze came in. A warm breeze that Bilbo knew was the Shire’s and the Shire’s alone. He heard the rustling of fabric and he felt tension among his companions but not once had Bilbo turned his head to see who came with power rolling off their form.

 

“A Child of the West gone East for the sake of Living.” He heard a regal voice befitting a queen break through his thoughts and he whipped his head to the direction of the voice.

 

Before him was a lady with black hair long enough to be a train, brown skin like the dirt she sowed her crops into, pearls and white flowers smelling strongly of the favoured flower of the Shire. Her eyes were dark as night with pinpricks of starlight glittering in them, and a concerned expression creased her brow. Her flowing white robes moved as if submerged in water, refusing to follow gravity as she stepped towards him. With every step, her hair lifted from the ground and floated about her as if the wind wanted to carry it off.

 

“A Child of the West yearning and aching for his Vow’s – His Promise’s, his Song’s – breaths to strengthen.” She spoke once more as she finally came in front of him.

 

It was as if Bilbo had forgotten his companions and he fell upon his knees. He drew his sword and buried the tip to the ground while the lady before him ran her fingers across the shape of his face.

 

“You did not think it nor did you say it, but I felt your call and plea.” She murmured. “What is the price for his life?”

 

Bilbo thought of the Arkenstone but the woman’s lips pulled down into a frown. “I have no cares for stone and baubles. Your fathers and forefathers should have taught you that.” She spoke as if scolding a child and Bilbo erased the trade of the King’s Jewel from his mind.

 

He thought of what more can be as precious as a king’s life? What more can be more valuable than the salvation of the Line of Durin?

 

“What do you value most?” The lady whispered. Her lips were close to his pointed ears. “I shall take that as collateral.”

 

Bilbo thought carefully and as if the thought was pulled from the back of his mind, he thought of all the moments he had been with Thorin. He thought of all the moments he had coddled Fíli and Kíli and all the times he had taught them what he can. He thought of the daydreams where Thorin had gone home with him and had witnessed Hobbitish celebrations. Or vice versa where he stayed with Thorin and Thorin had taught him the dwarvish tongue while Bilbo taught the dwarf king Hobbitish.

 

Bilbo thought of the companionship of the Company. His laughter with Bofur and promise that he shall be with Bofur to open the toyshop that Bofur had been dreaming of. He thought of Bombur and Glóin and how Bilbo had wanted to meet their children. He thought of Balin whowas a mentor and guide to all and who had valued Bilbo’s thoughts even if Bilbo was a hobbit and only thought the way a hobbit would. He thought of each member of the Company and found how much he yearned to share his life with them.

 

And he knew then what price he must pay.

 

“I shall return to the Shire when Thorin Oakenshield’s eyes open to see his kingdom.” Bilbo rasped. The lady before him smiled and stroked his hair.

 

Bilbo was faintly aware of his companions crying out in protest, begging him to recant his offer. Bilbo only ignored them even though his heart ached for their comfort.

 

“A bold and noble trade.” She murmured. “And you have given me a boon that would break the heart of not only you but all else in this tent.” Her dark eyes glittered with an emotion Bilbo was unsure of.

 

Her long fingers delved into Bilbo’s pocket and she smiled. “I refuse the collateral you offer and ask for a different one.”

 

Bilbo waited for her words and the lady spoke her terms.

 

“A treasure you have taken from a mountain where darkness had fallen and poison had festered. I ask that you never lay eyes on it and never touch it until the time is come for you to leave to the West where Imladris shall judge what must be done to the cursed bauble.” Bilbo furrowed his brow for two things may be meant with her terms.

 

That he never touch the Arkenstone – something he was willing to do in earnest – or that he never use his magic ring. The latter he was hesitant of agreeing to but he knew his mind and heart had made the decision when the woman laid her hands upon Thorin’s forehead and a white light sank into his flesh before the woman did the same to Fíli and Kíli.

 

“Confess to him and he shall waken from his healing sleep.” The lady spoke before she stood tall and made to leave.

 

That was when Bilbo looked around the tent and saw the Company gawking at her before each dropped to their knees, their heads bowed. But he could only feel the woman’s eyes on him.

 

“My thanks is forever yours, Lady Sinukuan.” He breathed out, his tongue slipping into the natural accent he had grown with.

 

Sinukuan only laughed, parted the curtains and left.

 

When Bilbo was certain she was far from the tent, the hobbit gazed upon the peacefully slumbering form of Thorin Oakenshield.It took him a short momentwhere he was confused what confession Thorin must hear. He had confessed to the theft of the Arkenstone but what more must he say?

 

That was when he remembered a time he was bedridden with a cold and fever. He remembered a time when Thorin asked a tale of him that ended with the exchange of their words so they can learn some languages in the others’ tongues.

 

Bilbo leaned down to Thorin’s ear and tucked away a stray lock of hair. With his voice breaking, he whispered, “ _Men lananubukhs menu, Thorin._ ”

 

His heart beat wildly from his chest as he waited with baited breath to see if the dwarf king will waken. And he believed it was the wrong confession for Thorin’s eyes did not open. But when Bilbo sat upon the side of Thorin’s cot and took Thorin’s hand in both of his, he felt rough fingers squeeze back.

 

With wide eyes, Bilbo watched Thorin’s lips move as if trying to say something and the hobbit waited patiently for the dwarf king to speak.

 

“I had heard you telling someone you will return to the West.” There was agony in his voice and Bilbo laughed in relief. “Tell me it is not so, Bilbo.”

 

Bilbo shook his head and pressed his forehead against Thorin’s, tears finally flowing from his eyes. “No. No, I will stay, _irog_.” Bilbo stammered, “I will stay for you all.”

 

Thorin smiled though his eyes remained closed for a bit longer before clear blue eyes met his. “If you will stay, will you marry me?”

 

Bilbo was stunned and he kept his gaze on Thorin who was waiting for Bilbo’s reply. The hobbit smiled and threw his head back, laughing.

 

“Of course! I would be more than happy to be your husband, Thorin!”

 

Through laughter and tears, Bilbo allowed Thorin to embrace him as tightly as can be done. “ _Sumpa kita._ ” Thorin whispered, though his tongue stumbled over those two words.

 

Bilbo leaned back in shock and looked at Thorin’s eyes that shone with emotion. “In the darkness, I heard you and my glimpse of sanity returned to hear your tale. I never forgot it.” Tears streamed down the dwarf king’s cheeks and he shook his head slightly. “When I came out of that haze, I realised that you have had my heart far longer than I thought.”

 

Nothing stopped Bilbo from pressing his lips against Thorin’s when Thorin confessed that. It took a long while before Bilbo pulled away and Thorin smiled at the hobbit as if the hobbit had been the sole star that shone amidst darkness.

 

Thorin needed only to say four words to Bilbo before their story became immortal and Fíli and Kíli awoke with pained groans.

 

“ _Mahal na mahal kita._ ”


End file.
